Chapter Text
XXXV.
“You’re the Black Panther?”
Shuri looks into the eyes of the man as his golden rings encircle their bodies. Their steady glow alights the night like fireflies. They are standing in the moonlight of a village and a pale breeze ruffles the scraps of paper that flit between them. She tilts her head in question. Currently, she wears the Panther uniform; it causes her to pause and consider what he has just said. What does the idiot think, she wears the skin of an animal for the sake of fashion?
She left Nakia a month ago. She told Nakia she’d be back in one week. GRIOT ran into complications regarding the U.S. border; Okoye berated her to no end when, by the end of the second week, Shuri made no reappearance. “If you do not return to us this minute, Shuri, I will be forced to find you and drag you back by the skin of your teeth.”
GRIOT made sure to confound Shuri’s approximate location.
“They clearly are teaching the new recruits well,” she murmurs as she retracts her mask. She regards the golden rings, points to them, “Are you the newest party trick on the team?”
The man shrugs, sheepish, then grins at her. The rings pull back, as if scandalised by her words. A lock of dark-as-night hair falls into his eyes. “That suit is kick-ass,” he says, gesturing to her skin. Shuri blinks. She does not get it.
“Why are you here and who has sent you?”
She knows it’s a stupid question; she knows that this man is an Avenger. Has heard of his involvement with the Eternals and the Gods above. His name is Shang-Chi and he defeated a nightmare of a monster only a few months ago. She knows of the lethal grace to this man’s walk. He is trained in martial arts. Her Panther strength would match his abilities, but she does not want to entertain him.
“I’m Shang-Chi,” he introduces, “And Wong sent me. It’s about Ross,” he adds before she turns away from him.
Shuri stills. She and Shang-Chi are standing in the poorest of slums in Chiapas, Mexico.
After, as she walks alongside Shang-Chi to the portal that he has opened for them, he explains that two hours previously, Ross was involved in a mission involving diplomats between warring states. He does not specify who is involved, but Shuri understands that it involves Europe and there is nuclear war on the horizon. Something even worse is coming. Ross was kidnapped while grounded in the White House.
“Of all the places for the coloniser to be taken,” she says as she comes to stand in an unfamiliar entryway, a grand staircase in front of her. Shang-Chi smirks. The Sanctum seems colder, more quiet; she remembers a brief moment when she and her brother stood here, after Thanos, and offered to help the Doctor rebuild their home.
She shivers; above her head, Doctor Strange sighs. “It has been a while, Shuri,” he says.
XXXVI.
There are at least four of them that she’s never met before. Not including Shang-Chi, or Katy, who stands next to him with her head on his shoulder; not including Bucky or Sam, or Captain Marvel. Two of them are Eternals, one is a male with a legit long-ass sword in his hand, and another looks to be a miniature version of Captain Marvel herself.
“Apologies for being late,” a man with small red glasses intones from behind her, and Shuri looks over her shoulder to find a blind man standing in the entryway.
The show just gets better and better.
Aaand I also don’t know him. She sighs inwardly. Make that five.
“Here’s the situation,” Captain Marvel explains as they stand in a circle in the library. Shuri studies the white glow of the hologram in front of her, a pictorial diagram of the ship that is steering toward yet another warring state. “The Niement-“
“The name of that colossal warship,” Bucky intones. He squints at the weaponry it carries; judging from the listing that GRIOT has uploaded, the country it is heading toward is planning on finishing the war it has been carrying out throughout the wintry months.
“-isn’t just carrying our missing Ross. It’s also carrying-“
“Vibranium,” Shuri murmurs. It’s bizarre; she’s worked with the metal all her life. She doesn’t even need to see the graphs, the footage; she knows at this point. “If Ross was taken, then there is information regarding vibranium on that ship and an entire cargo full of it heading toward one of two enemies, depending on who gets to it first.”
Ross does not belong on that ship. She knows what will happen to him the second he touches base with the ship’s destination.
“Princess-” Captain Marvel starts, but Shuri hushes her.
“I am not a Princess,” she answers.
“The ship- Ross- isn’t just carrying information on vibranium,” Captain Marvel explains, ignoring Shuri’s comment, “The people found a way to mine a site of vibranium that does not track even remotely to Wakanda. It was discovered off the coast of Ireland only twenty-four hours previous.”
Shuri stills. “Fuck,” she breathes.
XXXVII.
The plan in itself is simple. GRIOT disables the power grid as they infiltrate the ship; the Marvels find Ross and Shuri gets to the vibranium. Shang-Chi, Katy and Daredevil (odd name, but Shuri has heard… odder) will disarm any threats aboard. Sersi and Thena will sink the ship once the aggressors have been rounded up to a nearest Sanctum- Shuri reasons that would be the easiest way to, secretly, gift the vibranium to Namor, or for Okoye and the Dora Milaje to get their hands on it.
GRIOT narrows her search down to the hull; oddly, vibranium has no heat signature but the room it is kept radiates heat and- yeah, bingo. Shuri is almost distrustful of how easy it seems; they are being kept in containers that are twenty feet long and she wonders if there are weapons encased within.
There are many troops on that ship. She isn’t even sure where the Marvels will begin to find Ross; she imagines that finding an American accent on a ship full of accents that are decidedly not American would be easy. But, that was pending on whether Ross was alive, or awake, or sealed away in a room without IT.
GRIOT has tabs on the cameras and searches through them for facial recognition; as the AI does so, Shuri and the team boards a jet- they’ll portal in with the jet at a location twenty miles east from the ship. GRIOT will follow to ensure safe passage to and from.
“They’ll expect us,” she tells Shang-Chi.
Katy, who wields a bow and arrow as though she has carried them all her life, snorts as gracefully as a lady. “They’re not expecting the numbers.”
Shuri sighs, “Vibranium creates weapons of mass destruction.” Katy purses her lips. The unspoken line; even with the Marvels, we might need more help.
“The vibranium isn’t from Wakanda, yes?” Katy asks, and the question is gentle. Shang-Chi watches them both.
“Meaning the vibranium could have already been made into a weapon because I have not seen it, yes,” Shuri cuts ahead. She hopes that this means Namor will be there. His people would ensure that this ship goes down at least. The Eternals might not be needed for anything after all.
She only hopes that it does not go down until they have found Ross.
A part of her is very surprised that Namor hasn’t already attacked.
She casts a glance around her and wonders, for a moment, if this will be her final mission with them. Not as an Avenger but as a friend. Captain Marvel is speaking with Strange and Wong; Bucky and Sam share a joke in the corner, the Eternals- Sersi and Thena- speak with a man who calls himself the Black Knight. She knows of their strength. Even Shang-Chi and his rings, or Katy with her bow and arrow… Miss Marvel, a younger version of Captain Marvel, sits next to Shang-Chi and gushes over how cool it is that they are on a freaking jet about to save the world- and Shuri thinks it very strange, because she knows that Spider-man would love the young woman’s enthusiasm.
You are important, she hears him say in her mind.
“I’m not important,” she whispers, “But I’m part of something important.” And strange. And wonderful.
And isn’t it just a shame, to want to leave without experiencing this again, and again?
And again?
While these people will survive her, there is much good left to do. She smiles.
XXXVIII.
GRIOT kills the power; the Niement drowns in darkness. The ensuing chaos unfurls as the men and women pile onto the deck. Guns raise and fire at Shang as he spirals downward, the rings elongating with his movements. Katy shoots from the starboard, covering Shuri as she moves with ease. A dragon rises from her wrist, and Shuri stills at the sight of it as it growls; underneath her, the waves rock back and forth and the momentum pulls her downward-
“Go, we got this!” Katy bellows as she starts firing one arrow after another.
Shuri’s ears are filled with dragon cries and the surrounding waves of water and song. As Bucky begins firing from below deck, she trawls along, finding both Marvels as they zip in and out of the ship, searching for Ross. Her job is to secure the vibranium; GRIOT plots a direction for her, which brings her further and further into the bowels of the ship.
She knows, almost feels in her gut, that the vibranium is located with the mass weaponry Bucky sighted in the depths of the hull. Inside those containers, she might find jewellery, or something similar in stature to the spears that Namora might carry.
If used, even in canon fire, the vibranium would shoot far and cause more damage than a missile; she needs to get her hands on that stuff before they can use it. Gunfire and screams plague the metal halls, filling her ears with the echoes of war she’s grown used to in her travels, but she barrels forward anyways.
She is thrown to the side when the ship lurches violently to the right. Namor, she thinks, when her feet begin to pad through the shallow streams of water that are coming from above.
Namor is here; he is angry.
She makes a sharp turn to her right when GRIOT informs her that the next stairs will bring her down three levels to the hull. She spirals downward, using her claws when she spots one soldier after another through a hail fire of bullets and murder. Shuri casts a glance down the last two sets of stairs and jumps down the centre, landing into a perfect crouch as she takes out another gunman to her left; a swift uppercut to the neck and he is out.
The distinct accent tells her that they were once part of the EU, but no more. She re-sets her determination.
“Have you found Ross?” she intones as she moves forward.
Captain Marvel affirms his location and Shuri breathes a sigh of relief as she pounds through the darkened halls. One emergency white light every ten to fifteen metres is not enough down here; she can see fine through her Panther mask, but the men ahead of her are fumbling in the semi darkness. A shot ricochets off to her left, she ducks and lands on her knees, skidding along the metal floor before swivelling a round-house kick to the first soldier on her right.
From there, it is a flurry of movement; she ducks, kicks, jabs and shoots. Limbs flail as they land on the ground; one of them shouts a cry for help through his comm, but Shuri knows that they won’t be getting back-up anytime soon. She ducks again and barrels through the last lingering soldiers in the hall. The vibranium is located at the end of the hall- and-
The ship lurches again, and Shuri moves fast to land against the wall as the ship seems to rock fully to her left. Anyone left in the hall tumbles and falls head-first into the wall, effectively silencing the wildness of human activity around her. She breathes out, her body realising how much she’s put it through and she stumbles down onto all-fours when the ship rights itself-
“We’ve got Ross- evacuate the ship- there’s incomi-!” Captain Marvel’s voice fizzles out just as Shuri hears it-
The sound of metal turning- creaking- bending-
She clamps her hands over her heads and tries to drown out the sound by screaming against the noise (that’s supposed to work, isn’t it?)- but as she does so, she forgets to check behind her- even though the hairs on the back of her neck raise-
Puddles of water surrounding her rise up to her calves and her eyes widen as the unruly, sickening crunch of metal is-
“Oh shit- shit-!”
Namor is going to tear the ship to pieces- and she cannot warn him that she’s still in here, deep in the bowels of the ship- she’s-
The ship groans as it sways backward- and Shuri is dragged down, down, down, the hall, her hands flailing out around her as she tries to grapple for purchase on something- anything-
She’s getting further and further away from the hull- her body is hurdling down, down, down-
She is dropping- no, falling-
The ship is going to stand upright against the waves- going to-
A stray hit to her side has her doubling over in pain as she falls- she screams, the blood pulsing through her body- how, the fucking suit is bulletproof- how- her body is free-falling through air and she cannot- cannot breathe-
The metal groans one last time, and Shuri feels her body shove forward as the ship snaps- water crashes against her face as she tries to breathe-
She falls into water and is pulled, pulled and wrenched through the deep; she hits something hard, the breath let loose from her lungs and cannot figure up from down- and- she-
-falls- or is pulled - or is wrenched, shoved, dragged- she doesn’t know- where- she- is-
She can’t breathe. The water compresses her lungs this far down, the darkness throbs through her body, and she feels as though she might never see light again-
She drops even as she tries to swim. Shuri drops further, further down. Breathes in, even when her lungs cry out. But she does not fight, no. She lets it happen, lets death take her.
Sees her mother, reaching for her. Feels the weight of being carried. Her eyes close. Shuri stops moving. She is drowning; she gives in, and lets whoever, whatever, wants her, take her.
XXXIX.
He is angry. His anger boils through the rocking motions of the ocean. The thunder and lightning above mimic his temper.
He did not need his siren-warriors. He completed the task by himself; stupid, cruel and evil surface dwellers. He knew it carried vibranium. Could feel its call through the waters. Even still, feeling her, trapped in there- feeling the spear of panic inside his chest, the golden cord pulling as though begging to be saved-
He is angry, not because of the vibranium, but because this particular surface dweller chose to drown herself in the waters he used to attack them. Stupid, stupid surface dweller-
He pulls her through the water as fast as he can, as though his life depended on it…
“Drown the last of the ship,” he tells Namora, who nods as she watches him hold her limb body. Namora disappears into the waters, and he hears the opening strains of the siren’s lull as he pulls Shuri’s body to the surface.
They break water and he forcibly pulls the Panther’s mask from Shuri’s head and tries to coax the water from her body (again). He can see the thin trail of blood seeping from her lips and, for a second, his anger grows into full-on fury. There is metal in her side- someone shot at her.
He is not angry- no, now, he is furious.
He brings them to shore.
In his arms, she weighs hardly a thing. Her head hangs over his bicep. The shadows dance across her skin. She is bleeding out, barely breathing, and her body sluggishly glows in purple and dappled gold; her breathing fizzles and mutes the colours.
He tucks her head close to his shoulder as he kneels in the water. As his fingers thread along her forehead, he feels the cold seeping there. Her blood gushes through the wound to her side. Her blood is too thin. The bullet is still in there; it is made of vibranium and it is rotting through her skin.
They shot her with vibranium.
Like they tried to rape her in Cuba.
He growls. Oh, his fury burns.
He draws the water from her lungs and she gasps out one stuttered breath after another. His anger is assuaged, a little. The thunder still rumbles overhead. Lightning blazes the sky.
“You are made to be mine enemy,” he whispers, “But like this, you are made for nothing; that is not who you are, little Panther.”
You are stronger than this.
I am not important. Not important. Not-
He growls again. “You are important, Shuri,” he snarls. Because she is. Because she is worth so much more.
Stupid, stupid surface dweller…
A flare of gold whispers through the air and Namor hears the distinct clink of metal as the man who walks on rings comes to stand in the waters next to him. Another, nimble on her feet, stops on his opposite side. He looks to them and grips her a little tighter. The Princess’s nose sinks into the crook of his shoulder. Otherwise, she remains silent.
“I think she needs a doctor,” the man murmurs, hesitant. As if trying to calm a beast and, maybe, that is what Namor looks like to him.
“I think,” Namor murmurs, “She needs to return home.”
For she will never let him in and he cannot find it in him to open his doors for her.
XXXX.
When Okoye hears the news, the truth, she screeches. Her voice shrills through the halls of the palace, and M’Baku holds her shoulders as she wails. The ground is too hard; there is no cushion for a tragedy as painful as this, no way to breathe calmly through the pain.
Nakia stands with her hands on her son’s shoulders. Touissant does not understand; she is grateful that he does not. She asks Ayo and Aneka to take her son away from the main room and keep him company. She will not have him believe that his niece is dying. She will not.
Namor stands with Shuri’s still body in his arms. She breathes easier, there. Even if the blood still drips down her body. The glow between them is fainter now. She is running out of time. But it still beats, a lingering heartbeat between them. Water paints the floor, and Nakia wonders, if this is why Shuri stood with her feet in the water late at night; something to soothe the fire that burned her own soul, once upon a time. Maybe this is a gift, from her mother; this is her offering, of peace.
“This is because of you!” Okoye is screaming, pointing at him. For one moment, Namor sees the Queen of Wakanda in that stance. In the flare of her eyes, he sees remorse in the weight he carries in his own shoulders.
“Yes,” he answers, slow, almost sad. “She is yours-“
“If she carries a mark and half of it is yours, then she must remain by your side-“ M’Baku starts, but Namor cuts him with a look.
“I do not carry a mark and my people live under the waters of your world. The Princess cannot breathe below depths. This mark she carries-“
“-will kill her,” Nakia murmurs, “This mark will kill her, and you gave it to her.”
He swallows. In his arms, he feels her slow, slow breaths. Her chest does not rise. Okoye’s sniffles are loud in the silence between them; still, Nakia stands tall and strong.
“When I brought Shuri back from Talokan,” Nakia murmurs, staring straight into his eyes with the unbridled fury of a mother wronged, “She begged me to save a girl I shot and killed. That girl threatened my Princess’s life. If our Princess died, only Bast knew what kind of deaths your people would have faced. Wakanda has more allies than a small city such as yours. We are not alone. If you threaten those of us who walk above, we have people who would be very happy to send our enemies below, to you. You carry vibranium; our colonisers seek to attain it. Instead, Shuri begged me to save her. Shuri begged to remain behind so that she could help her.”
Shuri would come between warring states, for peace.
Namor could feel anger in her words. The War Dog. A ruthless assassin, an infiltrator. His own anger rose to meet hers.
But her fury- the fury of a woman- would not quell.
“We hide vibranium to protect your world and ours. To stop needless bloodshed. Our Princess came between you and an innocent young girl from the surface world. Our Princess begged to save the life of one of yours, to protect you and your people, even when she threatened to kill her. Even when your men and women tried to kill her. Our Queen, who now rests with the ancestors and watches over us, would have thought nothing of bringing your world to the surface and watched it- your people- burn.”
Nakia stared him down. “We did not seek war. We sought to help you. Shuri would have done anything for peace. Including saving you-“
I yield-
“-which means that you owe her a life debt. You owe her your own mark.”
Owe her a mark. Not necessarily a soul mark. Not a soul-bond. But owe her a mark.
Namor growls. Nakia tilts her head, narrows her eyes, and then grins.
“You sound more like a Panther,” she sneers. “Not a God anymore.”
XXXXI.
Shuri awakens to the cool brush of air on her face. There is a crashing sound, but it seems so far away, and for the first time, her body feels as though it is at peace. Her limbs feel loose, her shoulders relaxed and her mind fogged over with sleep.
She opens her eyes and feels something beat underneath her ear. Tempo. She is listening to a heartbeat.
While alarmed, she does not want to move. She does not. The heat from the body underneath blissfully warms her skin. She is content; this is peace. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply in. Smells saltwater, the sea. It smells (a little) like home.
“Princess,” a voice rumbles underneath her. Her eyelids flicker. She breathes out. She knows whose voice this belongs to and it hurts her- no, it galls her- that the man who killed her mother is the only person who can make her feel like this, now, forevermore. She is sickened by this offering of peace.
He is holding each of her wrists, limb as they are. His grasp is gentle, soothing, as he brings her wrists to his chest, close to either side of him; he is not restraining her. The skin-on-skin contact is… nice. All of it feels… nice. Safe. She feels cocooned. “Princess,” he says again. “You need to wake up. Your people need you.”
She does not want to. Please, Bast, do not make me. Please.
She knows that when she extricates herself from him, the pain will return. And she will be alone again. She does not want to be alone anymore. She does not want to… be, anymore.
No more dropping through ships, hurdling toward a death she cannot stop, or running away in order to help people; or, trying to find a bridge between her world and his, or…
“When did you properly find out?” she asks, because this needs to be addressed, even a little. His chest rumbles as she opens her eyes. “I’m being serious.” She places her chin on his chest and looks up into his eyes. Blinks, as he comes into focus. His eyes are warm as he gazes down upon her. He is sitting up; he smiles softly.
“You sleep to the oceans,” he explains.
“I always knew you were watching me.” She closes her eyes. Just a moment longer. “And I know you don’t carry one, so there’s no need to explain.”
His hands caress her bare arms and shoulders. The touch alone causes her to rest her head again. “Our culture has soul-bonds,” he murmurs, and his voice echoes where her ear rests against his chest. “But they are different to these ones. And I do not carry one. Will this… does this hurt you?”
She contemplates what he is trying to ask. If he means that this is killing, or will kill, her; or, if he means, does it hurt, when I’m not there?
Or; does your heart want mine?
She does not know how to answer and wonders whether it would have been better to have sunk to the bottom of the ocean. At least, down there, she had the fish for company, and the silence of the waters below. The darkness would have been a balm. And no one would truly care, whether she lived or died. There was no one, really, to mourn her.
“What happens next?” she asks instead. He does not answer. When she looks up to him again, she can tell that he is not happy with her deflecting. He continues to stare into her eyes, as though he will make her answer the one question (that is many questions) that will, ultimately, hurt her the most.
She knows that she needs to do this. She knows that this will hurt.
Shuri pushes herself off of Namor. Turns and winces when she feels the pain begin to start all over again. The shot to her side has healed over, but the pain in her heart has not. He will not see this expression on her face. He will not. She grits her teeth, looks around the room and finds that she is in one of the many camps by the waters. Ahead of her, the sun beams down along the glistening beach. She is in Wakanda; she knows this because of the sounds of the birds, the rush of the grass behind her, and the warmth of the sun. The wood underneath her bare feet as she stands up from the bed is warm, hazy with heat.
But this is not her home. She does not belong here anymore.
The sunshine is her mother. The breeze is her brother and her father holds her from the earth under her.
But this is not her place.
The ache in her abdomen grows. She looks down to the white dress she wears, the skirts pooling around her legs. The material isn’t transparent, but she feels seen. She feels too seen.
They would have dressed the wound in her side They would have seen the mark across her abdomen. Okoye and Nakia and M’Baku would know now.
They all know what she has, what she carries and she wants nothing more than to curl up in a corner and die.
“What happens next?” she asks. Her hands are shaking, but she grips her skirts, pinches her legs through the material, because she wants to beg for forgiveness. To whom, she does not know. She does not deserve forgiveness. Her mother is gone. Her brother and father were cruelly taken from her. She has nothing in her heart to fuel her.
And some bastard of a God decided she should have a mark to bind her to him. She was (is) no slave. She answers to no master, and does not follow the footpaths of the ocean; she has a Panther heart (and, oh, it is failing her now).
He is saying something behind her. She does not listen. She cannot hear. Everything blurs out of focus. Disassociating. She is adrift.
Her head is carried further and further away.
XXXXII.
In her lab, alone, a few hours after, and she cannot think anymore. She left him by the water. Stumbled to her feet and left him there.
In her lab, with her creations and her research and her science… all of it has gathered dust and there are ashes dancing in her head. Maybe they are the ashes of his lingering anger, for she knows that he is not fully angry with her, anymore. It is his anger for the surface world that he carries, but she still feels the burn.
Okoye asks questions; M’Baku asks questions- when did this happen? How? What are the next steps?
Nakia asks with her searching eyes. Her nephew wants to play with her. Ayo and Aneka dance around her. Shuri picks up a hammer and stares at it.
Shuri drifts further, and further, and further away.
She does not want to be here, anymore.
XXXXIII.
The Panther is needed, more than Shuri. So, she becomes the Panther instead.
Shuri slowly, slowly, disappears. The pain that causes… is brutal. Her sense of self… seethes, to be forgotten, like this.
And she moves on, a little. Because if she does not, she dies. A little.
So, she dies some more.
XXXXIV.
On a battlefield, a month, or two, later. The weeks blend into one another.
The Avengers ask for the Panther’s help. They mention the name Kang and time travel; something about a legacy that Iron Man left behind. There are rumours that there are other worlds out there; Shang-Chi and Katy have travelled to them and back. Ant Man helped, as did the Fantastic Four, a unit of soldiers that are as enhanced as the Panther themselves. They each shared a soul-mark, which baffled the Panther to no end.
“You know,” Susan murmurs to the Panther, who refuses to shed the mask when in the company of the Avengers. The mask only came off when they were alone. “Some soul-marks are made for friendships? For family?”
The Panther did know that. They nod to Susan’s budding question. But the kind of mark the Panther wanted was one of love. The Panther wanted to be loved. The Panther… did not want something that could not be freely given in return.
And yet…
The Panther wonders whether it was his voice they heard, when they slept at night. His voice, soothing them through the darkness. They never ventured close to the waters after that night, when he told them that he carried no mark. They were alone ever since (the loneliness was a bitter thing).
So, when the Panther fights on the battlefield, dodging bullets and fire and a rain of smoke and death, the Panther wonders whether he hears them, when he sleeps. Whether he hears them curse him, for leaving them in this place of darkness and suffering, with no one to hold, or love.
And when Kang has been destroyed, with the ashes and the smoke raining down upon the survivors in the streets of New York City, the Panther wonders whether any of what they do, really, truly, make any difference at all.
The darkness is a desperate thing; inside it, there is a child screaming with no one to hear her.
XXXXV.
There is weakness in her limbs. She is not as agile as she once was. The water pools at her feet and she stares down at the cuts and welts that mar her skin. Everything hurts.
Shuri blinks and she sees the last night she spent in Wakanda, a very long time ago. Okoye, begging her to open up again, to talk to her; Nakia calmly singing lullabies to try and coax her to sleep as her little nephew curled into her at night; M’Baku, patient and gentle, asking her whether she wished to renounce the title of Panther, when he found her in her lab in the early hours of the morning for the seventh day that same week, her entire itinerary scattered on the ground.
Shuri did not speak to them. She closed herself down, just as the mark inside her blood began to sever itself. The pain increased when she left Namor; sometimes, in her weakest moments, she feels the pain all the more and allows it, because her mark chose to love the man that killed her mother.
“I miss you,” she whispers, when she thinks of her mother. “Please come back to me, in the breeze, just for a moment.”
There are times when she is sure that she can hear her mother’s soft laugh, or feel a caress in the breeze. She knows that she is there; maybe, just maybe, her mother would be hurt to see her suffering. But, while Shuri longs to be loved, she does not think that she is permitted it.
Not even her soul-bond wanted her to love someone.
XXXXVI.
He drifts. The weeks before pass into the weeks after and he wonders, briefly, if she ever thinks of him. He wonders if she even remembers his name. Although he carries no mark, he feels the pull of her from the depths of the oceans. The golden cord stretches, pulls and tangles sometimes. She is hurting, all the time, now.
Maybe he could lure her down here, keep her here for all eternity, but he knows that she would hate him all the more for it.
He could make her his Queen; he does not think that she could fully open her heart to the murderer of her mother. And he respects her the more for it.
He would, however, simply like to be her friend. If that could be permitted. If.
Sometimes, he is sure that when he surfaces, he hears her whisper his name in the breeze.
While she no longer sleeps facing the ocean, he knows that she is still out there, still alive. And he is not sure as to whether that makes him happier, because the world holds her in it, or sad, because she is out there, alone.
If she asked him, he would have been by her side. But she would not. She would not.
The Black Panther is a part of him, he does not need a mark to know that she will always, always, remain a part of him. As will his people. And, perhaps, that is when he realises the truth, about the bond. Or, the bonds, of his people, and of her.
When it dawns on him, he is not surprised- and, then, he feels her, feels her thoughts, and realises the truth about where her travels were leading her.
In Salthill, Galway, he reaches for her as she attempts, one last time, to let go.
XXXXVIII.
Shuri awakens one morning and decides to give it a try. Bast it. Bast it all. She is, oddly enough, in Salthill, in Galway, Ireland. She has located where the vibranium had been located by Captain Marvel all those months before. She’d scoured the oceans through GRIOT’s cam and found the craters left behind by the masses of vibranium. There is nothing left.
But.
Bast it all.
It is a cold winters morning and there is no one on the beach; the winter’s snow falls, delicate, through December skies. She came here, especially, for peace.
She stands, ankle-deep in the waters and allows the waves to pull her under. Allows herself to submerge in the water with her eyes closed. Bast it all.
She is wearing a dress; she left the Panther suit in the small apartment she’d rented for the week. There is nothing to protect her from the chill that seeps into her bones and seers through her mark. She lets it wash over her and pull her down-
She breathes in. Deep. Coughs and splutters. But she does not fight, she does not-
She feels a pair of arms pull her. Her ears are full, there are bubbles in her ears and, when they surface, her head tips forward into darkness.
XXXXIX.
“Wake up.”
No.
“Princess, wake up.”
I am not a Princess and you cannot make me.
A sigh over her forehead. His breath is warm; his arms hold her upright. This is safe. This is safe.
“I asked you whether this caused you pain,” he says.
Mother, Bast, please forgive me. Please. Please allow me this. Please-
He tries to extricate himself from her tangled limbs; she clings harder. A low rumble reverberates through her body. A laugh- he is laughing at her.
They are still drifting through the waves; the water no longer feels cold against her skin. She feels weightless and it feels wonderful.
She opens her eyes and stares up into his. Her hair clings to her face. Her bare legs are tangled with his, her dress surrounding her in the ocean; they have drifted so very far from the shore. He stops when he sees the pain in her eyes, because the lack of something inside of her hurts so bloody much. And she is so, so very tired.
“Please, let me go,” she whispers. “Let me die.”
Those three words settle a blanket of unease over them both, but she does not care. He watches her for a moment, then two, and it is then that she realises that they are treading the water together, and the water surrounding them is a-glow with gold and purple hues. The water glistens over their bodies and the light shines over their heads and she watches the skies as she perches her chin on his chest, mesmerised by the lights (and tired, because she wants this, always).
“Why?” he asks her.
She swallows. Bast it. Bast it all. She is tired.
She closes her eyes and whispers, “Because I cannot yield to you. And because it hurts too much to continue like this without you.” Her words are so softly spoken that it almost feels as though she speaks in sleep.
Nothing happens. Shuri wants him to drop her right back into the oceans, to let them take her away. She waits, about to fall into the comforting embrace of sleep-
And then he draws her up, holds her under her knees, making sure her dress covers her as one arm cradles the bough of her slender shoulders. He lifts her from the waters and into the air, her body curving down toward his as he lifts them both to the skies, their shared bodies glowing with light. She is cold, then- it is fucking freezing now, Bast- (he is thinking that she has lost too much weight, for she barely weighs anything at all in his arms; every time he sees her, she wastes a little, a little more), and begins to carry her toward the shorelines.
Somewhere along the way, Shuri actually does fall asleep. Because, even though she is so cold, this embrace is soothing; he holds her as a parent would a dozing child and she feels comforted. He could drag her to the bottom of the ocean like this and, oh, Shuri would not mind. Not at all.
.
.
.
When she awakens, she is lying on a bed. A head slowly comes into focus above her. She squints. It’s Doctor Strange.
He simply says, “You’re staying here, with Namor. I think that your soul-bond is trying to tell you something.”
XXXXX.
She learns, over time; Namor visits every two or three days through a portal that Wong allocates solely for them both.
It was exactly what she wanted to create for her and Namor; an offering, of peace, between their nations. She wanted a secret place, in Wakanda, away from prying eyes, for them both. Wong easily found a way through that; the Sanctum exists out of time, so the U.S. border would not pose a problem.
“These are your allies?” Namor murmurs as him and Shuri walk the halls. She feels a little stronger, now. She passes on wearing anything other than the soft, muted hues of beige and brown pants. Strange helped her find a balance with some yoga poses; Katy strung bows with her to help with her concentration and she learned a few gentle techniques with Shang-Chi. They told her their story, how they came to be together. Some of it helps, little by little.
She is no longer drowning in the weight of her depression.
And she learns about her mark, as unique as it appears to be. It flows, she realises; the fire that once burned inside her, has been muted.
For now.
“Marks usually remain stagnant in the sense that they don’t move along your skin- although mine and Shang’s do,” Katy amends as she twirls a curl of her hair through a finger. Shuri nods. “But yours moves like water. That’s kinda cool- there might be something awesome in that, you know. I mean- I got a badass dragon in my mark, so who knows?”
Shuri likes Katy’s extrovertedness; in calms her introvertedness, a little. And Shang’s, it seems. Katy draws people to her, babbles about random shit Shuri has never heard about before. And her babbling makes people laugh, cry, makes them roll their eyes in mock-frustration at her.
It reminds her, a little, of her brother.
Shuri and Namor walk along the learning halls, where dozens of students pass by; she sees Shang-Chi and Katy battle together in one of the training rings. Their strength feeds from their bodies, and they feed into one another with it. It’s beautiful, to watch.
“These are… some of them. There are a lot of Avengers,” she adds. Namor blinks at the title. “The Avengers are a task force that help the surface world stop… the bad guys, I guess. Alien invaders; people from places beyond this world-“
“Like Talokan?” Namor asks. She stops, knowing that there is a double question there. She shakes her head.
“Talokan is part of this world,” she says slowly as she looks into his eyes. “Wakanda’s protection extends to the surface world, as our vibranium helps to keep the Earth safe; by extension, again, the Avengers will help us if need ever be.” What she means is that Talokan is safe from those who seek to destroy their- his- people. However, she also means that the Avengers will help them, should Talokan ever decide to invade Wakanda, or the surface world.
Namor surveys her, blinks. “I never considered you would have allies beyond Wakanda.”
Shuri parses the intended meaning from that. “We do not live in a very small world, Namor. There is so much more out there- so much more that needs to be protected. That is what the Avengers Initiative is for. We have more than one God on our team,” she adds with a small smile.
It has the desired effect. The slow realisation of how much power she carries- or, no, how much more she has that he does not; his face begins to fall.
Doctor Strange follows behind Shuri. “And we span a few dimensions,” he adds. “There are alternate versions of us, many in number and many of whom would be very eager to help us, if need be.”
Shuri follows him with her eyes as Strange walks around a corner. She breathes out. Waits a moment.
Once upon a time, she felt the itch to burn him, the world, for all the loss she carried in her bleeding palms.
Now, at the end, she feels the strange, eerie calmness of a person who has been through it, and no longer wishes to fuel the fire.
“I know you want Wakanda in your hands,” she says quietly, biting her lip. “I know that you still want to destroy the surface world. But I cannot give you my home and I cannot let you hurt the people of the Earth. There are many, many evil people out there- many of whom wish you wrong, I know,” she adds, looking into Namor’s steady, unflinching eyes, “-but, there is so, so much more good. If you did not kill my mother, we might have had a proper alliance between our countries. If you did not kill our people, I would have loved to have shown you more-“
“You wanted to help her,” Namor says, voice soft. “You wanted to save the girl that died when your friend shot her. Quetzalli.” He offers Shuri her name; Shuri’s eyes shutter, her tears close to brimming as she recalls what happened. Something in it causes him to still. He opens his mouth, as if to explain, then decides to skip over it entirely. He shakes his head, and says, instead, “You are important, Shuri. Do not underestimate your worth. As a Queen-”
“I’m not a-“
He steps closer, until their breaths fan their cheeks, and he stares deep into her rebelling eyes, willing her to understand; she is his equal, regardless of whether she would ever, ever have him. “You are a Queen, no matter what your people say.”
(Unspoken, if softly heard; regardless of what my people say).
Shuri nods, slow, soft.
.
.
.
Her mark flows, ebbs, and roars. When she fights, she learns to harness the power inside of her, to her own advantage.
She does not create waves, or water, but her Panther strength… evolves, and she thinks it also has something to do with the enhanced version of the flower-shaped herb she created. The synthetic fibres carried something else inside of it and, whatever it is, it unleashes the fire in her veins.
If she were to describe that fire… she would say it was akin to the sound of a people, shouting, as one. And, yet, their shouting was silent.
Unbeknownst to her, this power came from the depths of the oceans.
.
.
.
Later, much later, she reaches for his hand. It is almost-dark; the park keepers do not know that they are here- Shuri asked Wong if they could portal in and the monk grunted with rolled eyes.
Here, now, her mark follows to their enjoined hands. Like a flower, it blooms. The bloom glows gold in the darkness and she is warmed by the beauty of it.
There are waves in her mind, and his eyes alight to the sounds.
“In another world,” she says, “Things could have been so very different.”
Namor nods, once. There is nothing more to say. “If you have need of me, whisper my name,” he says. “I’ll find you.” Shuri tilts her head, blinks a question.
They stand together in a tunnel underneath Niagara Falls. He wants to see the waterfalls of the world; between saving the world and her duties in Wakanda, they both pick a place and meet there- her favourite was Aiku Falls in winter, when the snow covered the stones and the water whispered, near-quiet.
Namor smiles as the droplets of water frame their faces.
“I do not carry a mark,” he explains, “But I can feel you, in the water, out in the sun, wherever I may be.”
Unspoken, unheard, but still there, in between; I can hold you, when the pain becomes unbearable and, also, you can hold me, when my anger seethes through the oceans and there is no comfort to be found in mine own darkness.
(Sometimes, the oceans were a dark, terrible place, he explained, once. And he was, he felt, always, alone).
Namor lets go of her hand and, as he does, a small purple flower blooms from his open palm and fingers. Shuri’s eyes widen. The water is wild and she shudders with the cold wetness of it, but here in his hands, she sees a flower and thinks that there is life growing, between them.
“Among many things, Ku’kulkan is a God of Life,” Namor explains with a small smile. “I do not simply carry one mark-“
“You carry many,” she whispers, as it dawns on her. “Because you are tied to your people. Bast. That makes sense-“
It’s as though the floor is falling out from under her. As though she is one with the oceans. Those nights standing in the water; her body falling asleep to the lull of the waves at night. The fire dulling to embers when she was close to the oceans. “That’s why the mark moves,” she pulls on her sleeve. Namor inhales loudly. Her mark throbs and sways under her skin. “I thought it was because you were like water, but no- it’s your people, it represents your people- because you yielded- because-“
The water in her mind was a roaring silence, for his people could not speak above land.
Her rounded eyes fixate on Namor. “This mark is your people- my soul-mark is your people-“
I yield.
She remembers him lying under his spear, his eyes wild.
An offering, of peace. An offering; his people’s protection for her people’s protection.
I yield.
Because my people are worth more than I am.
And I understand, why you value yourself so little.
And, also, because the depths of the oceans are a terribly lonely place.
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, looking down to the mark again. His hands come up from underneath her outstretched arm to frame her wrist, his touch gentle. The flower that grows between them swirls around their wrists, attempting to unite them. Shuri smiles at its gentlest of touches along the surface of her open palm. Her heart swells in glee, because this is love and she will take it with open, willing, happy arms.
This is peace. This is calmness, and beauty, and love, in all of its weathered glory and she is happy- oh, she is so happy, because this is equal and loved and wanted.
“My people are literally in your hands, Queen Shuri,” Namor breathes, a plea, because he would (he would) always, always yield, for her. “Please, please keep them close, and keep them safe.”
And After All
XXXXI.
There are stories, of sirens who lure their prey to the depths of the oceans.
There are stories, of the Gods and the monsters that they fight to keep the world in sleep.
There are stories, of guardians sworn to protect, even at the burden of losing themselves to the darkness within.
Okoye knows of those stories, has lived through Kang’s reign of terror, through many reigns of war and bloodshed and, after, crowned Queen of Wakanda. She knows that there is worse out there, stories that lurk so deep in the shadows they have simply not dared to surface. Yet. While the darkest of mists swirl along the most silent of waters, and the stars tremble between the veils that guard their world from those that lie beyond, she understands that, truly, Wakanda is only a mere speck in humanity’s existence.
There are more worlds, beyond, more stories. And they are only an infinitesimal speck of dust to those stories and those worlds.
But, she remembers this story, of her Princess, who became her Queen and then the protector of her beloved country; of the soul-mate she was bonded to, and his place under the waters of their world. Like a selkie that sheds its skin to live upon two feet, her soul-mate travelled by her side; they worked together to keep their worlds and kingdoms safe- one shielded in darkness while another led their country to the light.
Long after Kang was destroyed and the Eternals scattered to the most desolate of places beyond the Earth’s surface, life returned to a normal of sorts; Shang-Chi and Katy followed the Guardians for a time, their travels marked by the stars as they attempted to meet with Gods of a different sort regarding the rings that Shang wields; the Doctor and Wong ventured to alternate worlds, where the time continuum collapsed and their alternate selves folded and moulded into possibilities that Okoye could not dare to imagine. They found the original Avengers, scattered in other worlds, some human, others set against futuristic backgrounds in which Tony Stark survived and Natasha became a mother…
Okoye and all of Wakanda lost Shuri and Namor. Neither came out of the rubble of a war held in darkness and secret. The Earth’s skies were streamed with red and cloud and, through the lingering chaos and spray of water, Okoye only found the mask of Wakanda’s protector, dented and dusted with the efforts of a women with a mark that carried the oceans of the Earth inside of it.
Some whispered that Shuri died, because Namor has never darkened the waters of Wakanda since and the portal that he used to traverse between Wakanda and Talokan remained unused in Shuri’s lab this last year. Shuri had it tailored that only he and her could use that portal- if another were to try and move through the doorway, their bio-signature would signal an alarm and deposit an electrical shock through their bodies.
But, still.
There were stories of Shuri’s dedication to her people, and Namor’s. Okoye knew them; she knew that Shuri’s body carried a mark that were of his people’s, and that mark meant that she had an obligation to keep both their countries safe from war and needless violence. While Namor never carried a mark, he carried her bond to him, close, always. And he loved her, in his own way; theirs was not, is not (possibly) a straight love, nor a narrow one, but it was a love that taught him to hold her a little closer when her mark moved and bruised, or for her to hold him, when all of those strings (bindings) were pulled a little more taut, inside of him.
They never found their bodies. Maybe they had been lost to the oceans. But, somehow, Okoye thought that Shuri survived the war. Somehow. And Namor.
It was strange, even as she came to stand by M’Baku’s side. Not as husband and wife, but as equals. He was like a brother to her, if his baboon-like stupidity could be compared to that of a human’s. It was strange, because as she came to stand alongside M’Baku, she could feel it, in the breeze. She opened a palm to the Wakandan breeze, and saw, through her fingers, the glimmer of a purple and golden haze.
“Are you okay?” M’Baku intoned from her side.
Okoye smiled.
“I think that the Princess- the real Queen- is still alive,” she murmured.
“It has been one year, Okoye-“ he started, baffled. Okoye rolled her eyes.
“And,” Okoye said, “I think that she knows what we whisper. It’s in the breeze, after all.”