Disclaimer: I do NOT own Marvel Comics or the Black Panther. All I own are a few specific original characters and the plots of these little stories.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
5:14am EAT (10:14pm EST)
Couple miles from the Sudan-Wakandan Border
Tiredly I leaned my head back against the back of the truck bed as I watched the dusty road appear behind us. When my eyes started to fall shut of their own accord, I snapped upright. I could not fall asleep however badly I wanted to. My whole body ached with exhaustion, but I couldn't sleep: we weren't safe, not quite yet. In another ten minutes or so if our rattling ride didn't break down first, we would reach the border between Sudan and Wakanda. Then in my adopted home-country we would be safe.
I switched my pistol to my other hand and wiped my sweaty palm on my dust stained cargo pants, before returning my pistol to my dominant left hand. I switched my gaze from the dusty road to my friend lying beside me on a hastily made pallet of my jacket and two old blankets. Natasha Romanoff was a far cry from her usual put-together, immaculate self. Her red curls were dirty, limp, and slick with sweat. Her green eyes were half-closed, and her forehead was beaded with sweat. Two bandages spotted heavily with blood peaked from her torn clothes.
I watched her chest rise and fall for a minute just to reassure myself that she was still alive. As I reached over and felt her forehead (her fever had risen a little higher, I thought), I wondered how our mission had gone south so fast. We had been in southern Sudan for a little over a week tracking a shipment of arms that was going to be moved to Somalia. Our job hadn't been to capture the weapons (that was someone else's problem) but to hopefully learn enough to track the seller and cut the problem off at the bud. We had acquired some good intel and would have been leaving for home in another day or so when everything went south. Late Sunday night our safe house had been compromised, and we had been forced to go on the run. Through Wednesday afternoon we had managed to keep ahead and temporarily shake our pursuers as we moved in a roundabout fashion toward our extraction point. However, early Wednesday night our pursuers, a posse of enforcers for a violent group of arms-dealers, had caught up with us. We had killed most of them in a violent and heated confrontation. But this victory had come at great cost: I had caught a through-and-through in the side, and Tasha had caught one in the gut and one in the shoulder.
With those injuries all our plans changed. I couldn't make it the rest of the way to our extraction point carrying my partner. I didn't have the means to call for our help, as we had lost most of our gear along with our safe-house. My best plan, I had decided, was to head for Wakanda. There we would be safe and could get medical care for Natasha most of all. My wound was relatively minor, as long as it did not get infected. After leaving the scene of our confrontation, I managed to carry Natasha as far as the nearest road, and there we had waited for someone to pass: I would take car or other means of transport. Around midnight a truck had come along; its driver was a trader heading back home. It took a lot of persuasion along with the promise of some form of payment before he would agree to take us to the border. For the last five hours I had been sitting in the bed of the truck that was half covered by a tarp, rattling along at somewhere between 10 and 15 miles per hour.
I stared off into the distance, half my attention on Natasha, the other half on the sand just in case any of our pursuers managed to catch up with us. My head started to drop again. I was so tired. My thoughts were blurring, one to the next, in my tiredness. I dug my fingernails [much too long] into my hand, and let the pain sharpen my thoughts. That would help but not for long.
Within a few minutes the driver knocked on the glass that separated us. I flinched at the noise. My nerves were shot.
"I can see the checkpoint up ahead." He shouted back in Xhosa, the native tongue of Wakanda and some of the surrounding area.
It took me a moment to translate what he had said. I had started learning Xhosan a year and a half earlier when I married into the Wakandan royal family. Since then I had learned it pretty well, but my skills at speaking any language besides English or Cheyenne decreased proportionately to the amount of sleep I had not gotten. Needless to say after being on the run for several days, I was way behind on sleep, and I was very slow at translating.
In another minute I heard the calls of the Wakandan guards at the checkpoint, and the truck started to slow. I heard the thwap of the guard's shoes as he approached.
"What is your business here?" The guard asked in Xhosan.
"Found two women along the road. One injured. Other convinced me to take them here." He replied. I could imagine him motioning to the back of the truck.
I could hear the guard turn and call to another, "Come." They moved around toward the back of the truck.
I knew I had nothing to fear from the Wakandan guards. My clothes were dirty, torn, and even bloodied in spots. I was an utter mess, but I knew that they would recognize me. Even so, I quietly put my pistol down between my feet.
Suddenly the trap hanging over the back of the truck was pushed aside, and a flashlight was shined in my face. I winced and put up a hand to partially shield my face. Almost immediately the light was dropped away from my face, and I saw a flash of shock as the guard recognized me: this was not exactly the way a border guard would expect to meet the Crown Princess of Wakanda even though I still worked for SHIELD. I shook my head quickly and put a finger to my lips. The guard nodded: message received.
Surmising that my companion was injured from the quick look he had gotten, the first guard turned and first spoke something to his companion who hurried away before saying to our driver. "Your assistance is appreciated."
"She promised me compensation." The driver replied.
Pushing the tarp out of the way, the guard looked at me and raised an eyebrow in question. I gave a weary nod in reply: our driver might be a lout as far as I was concerned, but I had promised him payment.
Within a minute the second guard returned with a litter and extra manpower. I couldn't see our driver anymore; the Wakandan guards must have taken him away to pay him.
The first guard turned back to me and said in a respectful tone, as he motioned me toward him. "I'll help you down, and then we'll help your friend."
I grabbed my pistol slowly and carefully and handed it to him first. He took it and handed off to one of the others. I gingerly got to my feet, still bent over partially so I didn't hit my head on the tarp. My side screamed in protest at the movement, but I didn't feel any fresh blood. I had only had the time to do the barest care for the wound, as what few supplies I had needed for Tasha.
Slowly I moved the few steps to the back of the truck and crouched down at the end. The guard, a tall and lithe man, reached up after looking to me for permission and lifted me down to the ground. I tried to restrain a wince but only managed in part. I knew he had seen, but I also knew that he would not comment until there were no strangers about.
He pulled me back a few feet from the trucks, and the other guards, one of whom I noticed was a medic, moved to transfer Tasha into the litter and then out of the truck. Our driver also was returning with his pay and climbed into his truck. "Good riddance," I thought.
I was guided away from the truck, through the border crossing, and toward a building about 15 yards away. The guards carrying the litter followed a few paces behind. I could hear the rumbling and rattling of the truck restart as it pulled away.
Stepping into the building that housed the border guards for this crossing, I winced at the light. The guard who had helped me from the truck showed me to a seat. "Are you hurt, princess?" He asked.
I leaned my head back against the wall. I didn't want to sleep yet, but I could rest a little. "Through-and-through between two ribs," I said touching my side to show.
"The medics are working on your friend as she is hurt worst, but one of them will come and check on you before we leave for the capital." He said. "My commander is getting a message passed to the capital while our main truck is being gassed up. As soon as your friend…"
"Natasha," I broke in.
"As soon as Natasha is stable as they can make her, we'll start for the capital. She looks like she badly needs a hospital," I nodded at this. He continued, "but we'll do what we can for her here."
I nodded again but didn't speak. A minute later after my jacket was returned to me, I roused myself to ask, "Can I have some water, please?"
"Of course," my guard jumped to his feet and hurried off, returning a few moments later with a cup filled with cool water.
I sipped it slowly, after not drinking for over a day I didn't want to make myself sick. I closed my eyes again, waiting.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
10:30am EAT (3:30am EST)
Central Wakanda
It took nearly an hour at the border crossing before the medics had patched Natasha and me up to their satisfaction. We were then transferred to a much more comfortable truck, and then we started toward Central Wakanda, the capital city of Wakanda and the location of the Royal Palace.
I had slipped into a fitful doze soon after we left the border. It only seemed a few minutes, though it was about four hours before one of the medics, a woman named Nakia, roused me. It was still early, so we made good time winding our way through the streets of the city.
I dozed off again only to wake with a start when the truck pulled to a stop in front of the main hospital in Wakanda, which was named after the late queen. A swarm of doctors and nurses met us. They removed Natasha first and hurried with her into the hospital. As soon as they were clear, I moved to the back of the truck. As I did so, T'Challa appeared in his usual black slacks and black t-shirt. His face already concerned grew more concerned as he caught sight of me.
T'Challa reached up and easily lifted me down to the ground. My feet were now on terra firma, but I could have been on a boat at sea as steady as I felt. I was finally safe, and the lack of sleep, food, water, and medical attention over the past four days began to catch up with me as the adrenaline began to fade with increasing speed.
My vision began to swim, and only T'Challa's strong arm around my waist kept me upright. From a distance I could hear him calling my name; I looked to the side into the city. Everything seemed so far away and fuzzy. The edges of my vision began to go black. Without warning I crumpled.
Friday, October 7, 2011
9:00am EAT (2:00am EST)
Wakandan Royal Palace
Slowly consciousness began to return, and for a few moments I wasn't sure where I was. Out of long years of habits I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. As the fuzziness of deep sleep began to fade, I started to catalogue what I could hear, feel, and smell.
What I could hear was very little. The room I was in was very quiet. There was the faint whir in the background of a fan or central air-conditioning. Some little distance away I thought that I could make out the noise of passing feet. The main noises nearby were the crinkling and flipping of paper and the scratchings of a pen.
I could feel that my wound had been treated. The pain that had been lingering for so long and making it hard to think was now only a dull presence. My side had been bandaged. There was a slight pain in the crook of my elbow that was newly bandaged. After a moment I realized that I had probably had an IV while I was out. The feel of the bed I was lying in was familiar, and so was the touch of my clothes.
All these thoughts flew through my mind in seconds. I was used to processing situations quickly. Sometimes my life depended on it. It didn't take long for me to realize where I was: the bedroom that T'Challa and I shared in the Wakandan Royal Palace.
Our room was full of sunlight; I opened my eyes slowly allowing them to adjust. Turning my head slightly to the right, I saw T'Challa sitting at his desk studying a sheaf of papers. Behind him through the window I could see the edge of one of the giant Black Panther statues that stood guard over the forest. Beyond stood the mountains and green jungles of our home.
"T'Challa," I tried to call his name, but I was barely able to speak above a whisper.
However soft my voice was, T'Challa still heard me. He must have been waiting for me to wake up, because his head snapped up immediately. A look of relief crossed his face and shone in his dark eyes. Putting down his pen, he stood and came around the end of his desk toward the bed.
He took a seat on the edge of our bed being careful not to bump me. Leaning over he brushed his lips gently over my forehead.
"I am glad to see you awake, my love." He said, tucking a strand of my long black hair behind my ear. "You frightened me when you collapsed."
"I am sorry, T'Challa." I replied, reaching out to touch his hand. He was leaning over me slightly with one arm on the opposite side of me from which he was sitting.
T'Challa took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "You are forgiven, my dear Asha," he said with a playful smile, though his eyes were still shadowed. My husband had been crown prince of Wakanda since his birth; he had grown up at court. He knew well how to hide his thoughts and emotions from others around, but sometimes I could still see in his eyes what he was thinking and feeling. I could see that I had badly worried him: this wasn't the first time since our marriage a year-and-a-half earlier that I had returned to Wakanda to heal from injuries acquired on missions, but this was the first time I had collapsed in his arms.
I glanced around looking for a clock. Unfortunately the one on my bedside table was in the wrong position for me to see while nearly flat on my back. T'Challa, surmising what I was looking for, said, "It is approximately 9:00 o'clock in the morning on Friday the 7th. You have been first unconscious and then asleep for nearly a day."
I winced. My thoughts started to drift towards how this return journey had come about. TASHA. If I had been out for a day, how was she? She had been in bad shape when we had arrived in the capitol. I turned my attention back to my husband. My worry was clearly obvious in my face, as I asked, "How is Natasha?"
"Her condition is serious, but the doctors assure me that she will make a full recovery. Her fever broke a few hours ago, but she is still unconscious."
I leaned my head a little further back and closed my eyes for a moment with an audible sigh of relief. "I thought . . . I really thought before we got here that I might have a teammate die in front of me and that there was nothing that I would have been able to do."
"Once you are stronger, you must tell me what happened," said T'Challa.
"It is a very long and complicated story," I replied, "I survived it, and I'm still not sure of all the facts."
For a few minutes all was quiet. It was nice to relax in my soft bed and to allow myself to sink into the mounds of pillows. T'Challa was still sitting beside me, and the repetitive motion of his thumb caressing the back of my hand was a nice distraction from the aches and pains of my body.
Suddenly another thought shot across my hand that had me trying to sit up suddenly. I only made it part way up before a wave of dizziness made my head swim. T'Challa helped ease me back down.
"You must not get up yet," he scolded gently, "you are still very weak. The doctor said that you were badly dehydrated and malnourished."
He continued after a moment, "But what is wrong? Do you need me to get you something?"
I rubbed a hand slowly across my eyes. "A phone would be helpful," I replied. "I just realized. We were trying to get to our extraction point when everything went sideways: we're days overdue by now, and SHIELD likely doesn't have a clue where we are. Unless you contacted them?"
T'Challa shook as his head as he rose from my side. "No. My father and I thought it best to wait until we knew the circumstances of your hasty arrival in Wakanda. Just in case." That is just in case we were running from SHIELD. He returned a moment later and handed me a secure cellphone that SHIELD had previously given me.
"Not a bad idea," I replied quietly with a grateful smile. I started to slowly dial a number from memory.
He kissed me again and then rose. "Make your phone call, my love, and assuage the worry of your employers. I will have the doctor come and check on you afterwards, and then we can get you some food."
I gave him another grateful smile as I pressed my ringing phone to my ear.
After only two rings the line connected. "Coulson," the voice on the other end started.
"Boss, it's Claw . . ." I began. I was not looking forward to explain to our handler how our mission, supposedly simple, had gone sideways.