A/N- This idea popped into my head when I was in the cab, on the way home from watching Black Panther - eight days ago. I waited a week to start it, and finished it in two days (notify me of any rushed/careless mistakes).
I played around with present tense again, and I'm not quite used to it, so again, do tell me if you catch any mistakes, and of course what you thought of the story.
I hope you enjoy!
It's not peace, exactly; it's the calm before the storm. They all know what's coming, and when it will reach them, and what they have to do, and it's worse than any of the times before. They've faced danger before, yes, but it was always right there, they never had time to sit and anticipate it - it was always hear the problem, sit down, plan, and go. They never had time like this. Before.
They do now. It's three days, not too long for some people, but long to them, because they know what they'll be facing is like nothing they've faced before. Which is saying a lot, since they've faced all manner of things, even each other . . .
It is the quiet of the condemned, the silence of people who have said everything there is to say to each other. This challenge risks the world in a way nothing ever has before. Forget about the world, it risks half the universe. And that is something that none of them can possibly take lightly.
Scott wants to be home with his girl. If he had a chance to do it all over, he would refuse Captain America the first time he asked for his help, three years ago, so that right now he would be at home telling her stories, listening to her laughter, drinking in every detail of her that he possibly can instead of waiting here, almost half a world away, for a fight that they may or may not win.
Clint wants to be home so badly he can almost taste it. Being a super spy doesn't allow for much bonding time with his kids, and now he regrets that he spent so little time with them, that he got to see so little of how they grew up. He misses Laura, who shouldered everything he couldn't and carried it farther than he ever could. He wants to go home.
Natasha wishes she had had a home. The closest thing she ever had to one that she can remember is SHIELD. She shrugs, characteristically, and smiles a little. It's not a bad way to go out, fighting for the fate of the universe. At least, if it survives and she doesn't, she'll be remembered as a hero. The red in her ledger will finally be gone.
The others are thinking similar things, though they will not admit it to anyone else. But they all know that being where they want to be would increase the chance that the world is destroyed, and being here gives it the best chance of survival. They've done everything they have to do. They've set the trap. They're just waiting on Thor and the Guardians - once he's here, they'll have everything they need.
And in three days, they fight.
They speak quietly. Even Tony and Sam are subdued. But they still smile, they still laugh, sometimes, to keep each other's spirits up. They read, they play games, and they spend as much time together as they can, all in the common room at T'Challa's palace, because if these are indeed their last few days on Earth, and they are going to spend them with their comrades, they don't want to miss a moment of each other's company.
Vision thinks of ants scrambling to fix their anthill when the boot is about to descend again anyway and smash it all to pieces. He marvels, quietly, at the hope which does, indeed, seem to spring eternal.
Wanda smiles sadly at that, her book lying forgotten on her lap. She isn't able to focus on it anyway.
Bucky leans against the wall, staring at his metal arm, wondering what he's done to deserve the insane and horrifying events of his life, and wondering what he's done to deserve such insane and incredible friends.
Steve moves his knight, thinking of all the wars he's fought before this, thinking wryly that he doesn't even feel the butterflies anymore.
Stephen moves his queen, trying to think of ways to protect the Eye that he hasn't thought of already.
Peter stands by the window, watching the Wakandan sunset (The sunsets there are the most beautiful in the world), feeling sorry for Aunt May, who must be going out of her mind right now; but if he makes it back, he'll make it up to her. If he doesn't, Mr. Stark will. If none of them do . . . well, it won't matter anymore.
This is the peace among them, three days before the fight, saturated with sorrow and longing and defiant courage.
And it is shattered at that very moment, as the sun touches the horizon.
"Go to hell!"
The shout is fierce and furious and has tears in it, and reaches them from some distance away - there is a slight echo as it rebounds off the gleaming walls of the corridor.
Bucky looks up, a crease between his eyebrows.
"Listen to me- Listen to me, Shuri- Will you stop-"
"Let go!"
"Listen to me!"
"I've heard enough! You weren't even going to give me a choice, were you? Just hit me on the head and sail me down the river?"
"That's not what we were - what the hell were you doing listening in on the court, anyway?"
"I'm the king's sister, I have the right to be present at court myself! But since you denied me that so you could plan to kick me out, I didn't have a choice-"
"This isn't kicking you out, idiot! This is keeping you safe!"
The voices are much clearer now, though they've stopped moving closer, and more than one person is clearly listening. Wanda, like Bucky, is frowning, Peter looks uncomfortable, Natasha's mouth is flat and slightly pursed, and though Stephen's eyes are on the chessboard, there is a flicker of curiosity in them.
"I never asked you to! I don't want this, brother!"
"Keep your voice down, Shuri, please. Just listen. There was never any question of hitting you on the head and sailing you down the river, for god's sake. Of course we would tell you where we planned to send you -"
"Why am I being sent anywhere?!"
"So that you do not die in this fight, Shuri!" T'Challa is shouting too, now. "How hard is that to understand?"
"It will not be said that the princess of Wakanda cowered in a cave while her country marched to its death! You have chosen to bring this fight to our country, to our people, and I will help defend it whether you like it or not!"
There is a frustrated growl. "This is not about your pride! This is about your life -"
"Oh, yes? You want to protect your dear sister, is that it? Tell me, brother, are you sending Nakia with me?"
There is a sudden, resounding silence that lasts for a heartbeat. When T'Challa speaks again, his voice is slightly choked. "I am not."
In the common room, Clint lets out his breath in a soft hiss, and Natasha grasps his shoulder automatically.
"And why is that?"
"She can wield a spear!" The statement has a snap to it that no one has heard in the king's voice before. "She can shoot a gun! She can kill a person with her hands tied behind her back!"
"You think that will help against the Mad Titan?"
"She can fight, Shuri!"
Shuri's voice is suddenly low, hissing. "And I cannot? I am a liability, is that the problem?"
"You - are the focal point of any mission in the lab. In the field - yes, I'm sorry, but you are a liability. You remember when you had to fight Killmonger? I had to save you -"
"Yes, and I had to save you after that!" Shuri cries out. "You could not have beat him without the sonic stabilisers! Nakia could not beat him either! The Dora Milaje could not beat him, he killed one of them, do you remember that?! It is not fair to judge my ability based on the fight with Killmonger!"
"Nakia fought with her hands and her feet, and she could hold her own at least for a while. You fought with machinery, and machinery breaks, machinery fails, as it did that day. And you cannot fight any other way. You were always a sickly child, and you do not know how to use your body effectively, like Nakia and Okoye can-"
"I have trained with them since -"
"Yes, and still you cannot!" His voice is thunder, now. "Your talent lies in invention, in direction, not in fighting on the field, and as your king, I forbid you from fighting in this battle against Thanos."
"You can't-!"
"That is an order!"
Dead silence for three seconds. Then there is the firm click of heavy shoes on tiles, receding. The sound is uninterrupted for five seconds more, and then those listening hear Shuri's voice, trembling with anger.
"No."
The footsteps halt.
"Excuse me?" The words are drawn out, terrifyingly slowly.
"I will not obey."
A single step, ringing on the tile, threatening. "You rebel against your king?"
Her voice is still trembling, and those listening can hear her raise her chin. "I do. If you wish to prevent me from fighting, brother, I suggest you request the executioner to cut off my head, for there is no other way you can do so."
The footsteps are lighter and faster now, approaching, not receding. It is a moment before the heavier ones begin to sound, approaching as well.
"Stop. Shuri - stop!" His voice is desperate now. "Why are you doing this? What can you possibly gain by fighting?"
The lighter footsteps stop very close by, and those suitably positioned within the common room can see Shuri's cloak flare out, in the hallway, as she whirls to face T'Challa.
"What do i gain? What do I gain? You think this is a joke to me? You think I am looking for gain when the world is about to come to an end?"
"No - I -"
"I said it before. I am a princess of Wakanda, and I will fight to the death to protect my country and this world. If you cannot understand that-"
"You are placing your pride above your life! Can you think for one second? What happens if I die and you die as well? Who will lead the country if we are gone?"
"If the both of us are dead that will mean the Titan has won, and there will be no need to lead anyone! No one can beat the both of us together!"
The statement is snapped, but there might be a hint of a fierce smile behind it. It surprises a laugh out of T'Challa, though the sound is twisted with pain. "If only that were so - but- "
"But what?! You need every fighter you can possibly get! If I cannot fight with my hands, I will fight with my machines, my inventions, and I will make them indestructible! I will contribute what I can so that the whole may have a chance of succeeding! That is how a kingdom works, that is how an army works, have you forgotten who said that to you?"
"Don't you dare, of course I haven't-" The words are snarled. Shuri cuts him off.
"Your billionaire friend cannot fight like you, or like the White Wolf, or like half the people sitting in that room! He too depends on machinery that he has built himself! I do not see anyone telling him to stay out of the battle because he cannot kill someone with his hands tied behind his back!"
T'Challa does not tell her to keep her voice down, now; Wanda knows he is too angry to care. In the common room, Tony stares down at his hands, for once with no trace of a smirk on his face.
"Tony Stark has proved himself in battle time and time again. You have not. You have no suit like him, you have not trained-"
"I have!" The tears are in her voice again. "I have my own suit, and I have been training with the Dora Milaje for months, since Killmonger! You need every fighter you can get, T'Challa, you know that! If I fight the chance we win is higher - maybe not by much, but still higher! You are risking your country, your people, your queen, even! Why do you refuse to allow me to do this? You know what I say is right-"
"If I fall-" He is spitting the words out, like he is choking on them and wants to get them out as fast as he can. "Mother will have no one but you. To see me fall would break her - to see the both of us fall would kill her."
"You are worrying about Mother when the universe is at stake?!" Shuri spits something in Wakandan, something vicious and hurtful. Natasha recognizes the word fool.
(First rule of going to a different country - learn as much of the language as you can, as fast as you can, so they can't talk behind your back. She never shook the habit.)
"What if I fall and you do not?" Shuri is relentless in a way no one expects her to be - Sam sees Steve exchange a startled, concerned look with Bucky, and knows how he feels. "What if I fall saving you, would my life, would my abilities have no meaning then? Wakanda needs its king more than it needs me, and if I-"
"Do not say that!"
There is a small sound from Shuri, a cross between a gasp and a fierce yelp. Bucky, from where he is standing, can see a little down the hallway, and he sees that T'Challa has grabbed Shuri by the arms and is holding her tight. They stare at each other for a moment. He cannot see Shuri's face, but he can see T'Challa's, and Bucky has only ever seen such pain and fear and anger in the mirror.
Then T'Challa takes a deep breath. He loosens his grip, sets her down, takes a step back, and looks her in the eyes. Unwavering.
"I will not watch you die."
Shuri says nothing - perhaps shocked, perhaps struggling for words, perhaps too angry for words. Wanda knows which, but she will not meet the inquiring looks thrown her way.
"I will not watch you fall on the battlefield, Shuri. You are all the family I have, apart from Mother, and I cannot watch you die. I have seen friends die, and always, afterwards, there is the - could I have saved them, could I have done better, run faster, taken the bullet, warned them - " He shakes his head, fists clenched. "I could not bear that - if it were you."
Shuri crosses her arms, gripping them tightly. Another beat of silence, and no one is pretending not to listen now - all heads are up, all eyes wide, all ears straining.
"A king does not ask his subjects to do what he will not do himself."
Her tone is cold. Peter blinks; after T'Challa's declaration he had expected some sort of conciliatory statement, some kind of 'I know, I love you too, but you have to let me do this on my own.' Are people always so tough on each other in Wakanda, or is it just Shuri in her anger?
T'Challa takes another step back, blank shock and dismay in his eyes as Shuri continues, "You loved the man who said that more than anyone else. If you cannot heed his teachings, I suggest you step down from the throne, brother. I will not watch you die. You will not watch me die. The world cannot afford to have both of us sit idle in this fight. Therefore, we both fight. It seems quite simple to me. If it is not to your taste, you are free to have me executed as a rebel who did not heed her king's words. However, if you will not do that, I would like you to revoke your orders to have me shipped to a safehold so that I do not have to worry about being carried off in the middle of the night, and -" Her voice breaks, then, just the slightest bit. "And I would like you to train with me. We do not have much time."
"Shuri-" It is a gasp, a plea, but she does not heed it. She claps her fists to her shoulders, arms crossed across her chest, and bows stiffly.
T'Challa reels as though she has slapped him.
She turns on her heel and strides away, but Bucky is already moving. He reaches the doorway just as she crosses it, and reaches out to grasp her shoulder.
She stops when he touches her. For a moment, there is no movement - Shuri is glaring at the floor, Bucky is scanning her face, and T'Challa is watching the two of them, helpless.
Then she turns her head. Meets his eyes, for a fraction of a second. He sees the tears in her eyes, how she has clenched her jaw tight, and he -
- he doesn't know what his face looks like, but it makes her expression soften, and then shatter as she loses the struggle to keep her composure. She wrenches herself out of his grip - he lets her - and hurries away, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Bucky glances at T'Challa. There is a film of tears in his eyes as well, and he is gazing blankly at his sister's receding figure. Then he blinks and the tears disappear, forced back; he turns and he sees Bucky watching him.
('- brought me a white boy to fix?' The excitement of a child in her voice, the gentleness of a mother in her touch, the expertise of an adult in the way she handles her instruments. 'A new arm, hmm? Well, let's see what we can do.')
The recollection hits him like a freight train - so carefree, she was; so lively, so teasing, and now she is -
- furious, shouting, demanding that she be allowed to fight, but she can't, she's his baby sister, how can he - he's already prepared himself to watch Nakia die, reconciled himself with the idea -
(It took him days, days of sleepless nights, days of holding her close every chance he could get)
- but he can't if it's her, he never even thought she would want to fight, she always hated Okoye's classes, but now -
- I have my own suit, and I have been training with the Dora Milaje for months -
How could he have not known that? Had he just not wanted to see it? What else had he missed?
Did he ever really know her at all?
He meets Bucky's gaze, and half-shrugs, half-smiles in apology, both movements pained and unconvincing. Bucky does not react, only remains as he is, watching him.
He supposes he should apologize to everyone. They all heard, of course they did, and they should not have had to. Despite the shame and pain and sorrow coursing through him, he steps forward-
(A king does what he has to do, no matter how painful it may be - he never shirks his duty)
- into the doorway, and pauses, struggling for the words in the face of their gazes (sympathetic, sad, understanding, embarrassed, curious). He opens his mouth -
"Don't."
His gaze snaps to Wanda, who is watching him with a weary understanding in her eyes.
"Don't apologize," she says, in that quiet tone, that lilting accent.
He closes his mouth, feeling his eyes burn again.
Peter, watching them, sees T'Challa swallow convulsively, and sees Wanda's expression soften even as she says, "She is right, you know."
The king's fists clench again. "But-"
"I know."
"I would have thought - you of all people -"
A brief expression of pain flits across Wanda's face, and Vision floats nearer, touches her shoulder lightly. "Yes," she says quietly. "I understand. But she is right. And you will not stop her."
T'Challa's gaze is intense now, searching, fixed on Wanda's face.
Wanda smiles slightly. "That would not be fair to her. And that is all that she has built. You would do no good by destroying it."
Another pause.
"No, it would not stop her. It would only fuel her determination."
His expression crumples, his eyes drift closed wearily, and he leans his forehead on the door frame. Peter has an ache in his heart he cannot explain, an ache that intensifies when he thinks he sees a silver trail glimmering on the king's face.
The silence is longer, now. Some people turn away, not wanting to intrude on T'Challa's moment of grief. Peter is one of them. But he looks back when Wanda says, "Then you should tell her that. Show her you understand . . . but in a while, when both your tempers are cooler."
T'Challa opens his eyes, looks at her.
"Yes, I do think it is the right decision. I'm sure everyone else would say the same."
T'Challa's gaze flits across the room, from face to face. Steve nods his head slightly, an old sorrow in his eyes; Natasha shrugs with one shoulder, a gesture that says You don't really have a choice; and Tony murmurs, "The kid was right - and it's her choice to make." And adds, after a moment, "Sorry."
Peter meets his gaze, though he doesn't intend to. He doesn't know what to say, what to do, but T'Challa smiles sadly, reading something in his face, and then turns back to Wanda, and makes a half-hearted gesture with one hand, a gesture of acquiescence. With the other hand, he wipes at his eyes.
Wanda nods in return. "In a while," she says again. "And speak to your mother about it, as well. She should be prepared."
T'Challa pushes himself off the door frame, and bows slightly to Wanda. He bows to the room at large, also, and then strides off quickly.
Stephen finds the chessboard no longer holds his interest, and Steve doesn't seem inclined to continue the game either. Peter turns back to the window, gazing unseeingly at the dark sky, speckled with early stars. Wanda pushes her book away entirely, pressing her hands to her eyes. Clint drops his head into his hands, and Natasha's arm is fiercely tight around his shoulder.
Bucky sits against the wall, leaning his chin on his knees, wondering if Shuri was grateful or resentful for his interference. Wondering if he will be able to bear seeing her die in battle. And wondering if the odd, harshly twisted feeling that thought engenders is what is called heartbreak.
Well, he'll find out soon enough.
Three days . . .
. . . and they fight.