Wakanda; before the end

Akeja had become used to the silence of the Wakandan countryside. While the bustling city was constantly alive with the buzzing and humming of machines and people, the outskirts were quiet and peaceful. It was just her, her goats and her ragged excuse for a house. Really, it was a shack on a small patch of land, but it was hers.

Naturally, Akeja thought that surrendering her past life to nature would be a surefire way of being left alone. However, her meddling family apparently didn't understand nor care for boundaries, so the hazel-eyed woman wasn't surprised to see the newly crowned King of Wakanda standing on her porch.

"Sister," T-Challa began, but Akeja had already spun around and began walking into her kitchen. She didn't bother telling him to follow, knowing he would chase after her to finish whatever bullshit proposition he'd come up with to lure her back to the palace.

It had been months since Akeja had last step foot in her ancestral home. After her father's untimely death, it had become difficult to stride through the halls knowing that he'd never walk beside her again, but it was Killmonger's attempted takeover that had been the final straw. Her own flesh and blood had pressed a blade to her throat and told her to obey or face whatever god waited for her. Part of her had known that if her father hadn't lied, if he had taken that boy home with him, she never would've had to take the lives of the men who had joined Erik's side. Sometimes she could still taste copper in her mouth - could still hear the screams of young boys as she gutted them in the name of Wakanda.

Now, she wished to be left alone.

Akeja turned off the stove and lifted the finished pot of steaming stew onto the awaiting trivet. Steeling herself, she turned around to face her brother. He was leaning against her small dining table, arms crossed sternly. If she squinted she could almost see a reflection of their father in him. The thought made her stomach churn.

"Talk," she commanded, waving a hand at him expectantly.

"I need a favor," T'Challa said, watching his sister carefully for her reaction. Akeja's eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly but she had not made a move to say anything. The King took that as a good sign. "We have taken in a foreigner - one who is in great need of our help."

At that, Akeja couldn't help but scoff. "Do you not remember the last time that you allowed a foreigner into our lands? He took your throne and then started a civil war. Are you sure you want to take chances?"

T'Challa's jaw clenched at her tone. "It is not the same. I owe him. He is the man who I had thought murdered our father. I... made grave mistakes in my grief."

Yes, yes you did, Akeja couldn't help but seethe internally. Their father had been blown to pieces on live television and the brother that she had needed to stand by her side had disappeared to stupidly enact vengeance. She was left to pick up the pieces by herself; to support a devastated teenage sister and a mother who had become distant in her grief. Then, she'd had to swallow her anger and welcome him back into their lives when it was revealed that the man he'd left them to kill was not the true culprit, but rather a pawn in another man's chess game. Grave mistakes, indeed.

However, Akeja did not give a voice to her thoughts. Goading her brother into an argument was tempting but she knew that would only result in him storming out in a rage and then coming back at a later time to finish asking for whatever favor he desired. She would prefer that they got this visit finished in one go.

"How is Wakanda now that we have finally gone public?" she asked, turning and reaching into a cupboard above for two bowls.

As she began ladling stew into the porcelain, her brother replied. "It has been interesting, but freeing. There is no more need to pretend to be something that we are not."

"Yes," Akeja murmured. "I would think so."

"Shuri has been asking about you constantly. She misses you. Mother, too."

Akeja's heart turned to lead in her chest. Tears stung her eyes, but she had already swallowed them down before she swung round to pass her brother a bowl. He took it with a gracious nod, eyes darting around her face in a manner that she knew meant he was analyzing her reaction. T'Challa had a talent of being able to read her better than anyone she'd ever met before. He must have seen the wet sheen in her eyes but said nothing of it.

"I miss them, too," she confessed quietly, clearing her throat. "But my place is not beside them anymore. At least not yet. I need... I need time."

"Of course," T'Challa said, but Akeja knew that he did not understand and most likely never would.

The two siblings settled into an almost comfortable silence as they began to eat. After a few minutes, T'Challa placed his bowl carefully on the dining table beside him.

"I want you to take him into your home."

"What?" Akeja's voice had risen to a pitch she didn't know she could hit.

T'Challa eyed her warily. "That is the favor. He has had a difficult life. I want him to know peace, away from the busy nature of the city. I would like you to open your home to him - just for a short while."

"Short while?"

"Yes, Akeja. Are you not listening?"

She couldn't believe it. She had moved away from her family to find the peace and quiet that her psyche demanded, and now she was being asked to hand that over a man she didn't know? A man who had almost been convicted of her father's murder? Her brother had to be playing a very stupid prank on her.

"I refuse to!" she spat, "My house is not a hotel for strange white men. House him somewhere else."

T'Challa had been expecting her reaction. His shoulders were squared and his face was schooled into a neutral, calm expression. He was facing her the same way he had faced the UN after the death of their father. Recognizing that same steely determination in his eyes only made the rage in her blood hotter.

"Do not give me that look! I said no, T'Challa! Leave now that you have your answer!"

"Do not make me pull rank on you, sister," T'Challa warned. "The King of Wakanda is asking you to house a friend. It would be unwise to refuse."

In a past life, Akeja would've started throwing stew at his face. She was tempted to. But they had both grown. Hearing the brother who had wiped tears from her cheeks and kissed bloody knees demand that she do as he asked lest she face the wrath of the crown that had raised her was almost heartbreaking. She knew that he would continue bothering her until she accepted; she could see it in his face.

So, she swallowed her pride - even if it cost her.

"I will do this, brother. But if he does anything that I don't like, I will slit his throat in his sleep. Are we clear?"

T'Challa's eyes softened. "We are clear."

"Now, get out."

Author's Note:

Ok this has been my brainchild for a while now and im so happy i finally got it together to post! hope you enjoyed!