Chapter Text
Shuri sat on the beach, as she had every night since burning her mourning clothes, staring into the flames of a fire. Despite how the light blinded her, how the smoke filled her eyes with tears, she kept her gaze resolutely fixed. Although drawn, time and time again, back to the shore, she refused to look beyond her circle of firelight. Refused to acknowledge the odd yearning in her heart.
At first, she told herself it was grief which pulled her back to the sea. Even now, she was haunted by the moment they pulled her mother from the water. Then, she told herself she returned to guard her brother’s son. And still, even more recently, she told herself she did it to remember.
But tonight she couldn’t bring herself to whisper another lie. Finally, she had to admit that she was drawn back to the ocean by thoughts of him.
The emotions burning in her chest felt confused and contrary. From one moment to the next she felt rage, grief, wonder, curiosity. And there, in the deepest depths, something she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – quite define.
Okoye had contacted them today. Returned after rescuing Everett Ross, she used the Kimoyo beads to ask Shuri – Black Panther – to return to Wakanda and face the growing American threat. The General had stated in no uncertain terms that Shuri was needed. And that the Talokanil were refusing to negotiate with M’Baku. They would wait, they said, until the Black Panther reached out to them.
For hours, Shuri and Nakia had talked about the situation. Shuri didn’t want to return. Her heart heavy and overburdened, she wanted nothing more than to rest. But Nakia insisted. And, when the former spy voiced her own intention to return to Wakanda with young T’Challa in tow, Shuri realized she couldn’t hide forever.
Steeling her spine and squaring her shoulders, Shuri tore her eyes from the fire and stared defiantly across the surf. Peering into the darkness, she challenged the world. And, perhaps, a distant god.
With a sigh, she stood and kicked sand over the bonfire to put it out, just missing the shadow that slipped away beneath the waves.
The palace felt unbearably empty. Without the righteous fury that had fueled her revival of the heart-shaped herb, without the drum of war sounding so loudly in her ears, Shuri found even her lab seemed little more than a silent tomb. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything more than tinker away at old projects. With Riri returned to America, and most of her assistants still overseeing vital repairs and reconstruction, Shuri was well and truly alone.
They would hold an official welcoming ceremony for young T’Challa soon. But Shuri wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. Not with the Americans already sniffing at their borders. If they knew T’Challa had a son… She shook her head. The last thing they needed was for outsiders to force a succession crisis. With her refusal of the crown, and M’Baku’s lack of royal blood, all anyone would need do was steal Toussaint away and engineer a fight for the throne.
A restlessness filled her, but nothing she did could quell it. All she felt was an odd pressure in her chest. All she saw was water and broken glass.
Flinging down her tools, Shuri left the lab, fleeing from the palace. She didn’t have a destination in mind, but she should have known where she would end up.
Was the brush taller than the last time? The night darker, the air heavier? Here, where she and her mother had their last peaceful words, Shuri heard the whisper of the wind. Ramonda’s words from that night resurfaced, words that Shuri had passed off as meaningless confirmation bias. But here she was, plopped on the earth, arms around knees tucked to her chest, swearing she heard the murmur of her mother’s voice.
There, with her toes just out of reach of the river, Shuri stopped thinking so rationally. She ripped off the stopper on her emotions and let everything pour out of her. Unlike the rage of before, the burn of vengeance, the weeping brought a cool relief. Just as the fire had consumed her mourning clothes, her tears cleansed and reshaped her.
Just as Shuri wiped away the last of her tears and the breeze quieted, a new sound caught her attention. Barely discernible, it was the gentle lapping of water against a moving form. Shuri looked up and then jumped up and away. Her eyes fixed on the form rising from the river, so much like he had before.
Water sluiced off his body as he slicked back his hair. He walked onto the shore at a deliberate, steady pace, arms dropping loosely at his sides and palms open to show he came only in peace. His warm brown eyes never left her face.
“It is good to see you again, Princess.” He stopped when Shuri took another step back. A slow smile tugged at his lips. “Or, perhaps, I should call you Black Panther now.”
“Shuri is fine,” she bit out. She held herself still. Like a deer caught in headlights. Or a hunter catching the gaze of another.
Namor’s smile only deepened and he let out a low chuckle. “Shuri, then,” he returned, voice low and smooth. Not for the first time, Shuri wondered if he shared the siren call of the other Talokanil.
He began walking forward once more, but this time Shuri held firm. Despite their truce, despite calling off the hostilities between their people, they were not friends. His mere presence caused Shuri’s pulse to race, reacting to hidden dangers. No matter how sweet his words and gestures, she could never forget his ruthless heart.
“What are you doing here?” Shuri demanded.
“I am here to negotiate the joining of our peoples.” Namor moved closer, pausing just inside her personal space. Taking up the oxygen between them, daring her to retreat.
But Shuri was now filling with the confidence and strength of the panther. She had bested him before, this god of the sea. She had stood above him with his life at the end of her spear and forced him to yield. No matter her body’s fight or flight response, the weakness in her knees, or the shiver that raced down her spine.
“I didn’t call you.” Shuri’s voice was cold. “And I don’t want to see you.”
Namor searched her face for a long, breathless moment before nodding solemnly. “Then I will wait for you to come to me.” He turned and headed back to the water. But before he entered, he spoke once more.
“Do not steal your mother’s agency from her,” he cautioned. “She chose to give her life for that girl.” He turned his head, looking back at Shuri over his shoulder as his voice dropped an octave. “As you once did.” And then he dove into the water, leaving Shuri to stand alone, once more, on the bank of the river.