A/N: I wrote this in like three hours while listening to "All the Stars" from the Black Panther soundtrack on repeat. I'm sorry if it's terrible, I just can't get this idea out of my head. Enjoy!
Frozen in the Heart of the Storm
T'Challa smiled politely and raised one hand in parting to the press as he stepped away from the podium, finally done with speeches for the night.
He had no regrets about exposing Wakanda. He had no regrets about deciding to finally join the world instead of silently sitting on the sidelines while other nations struggled and suffered. However, had he known the amount of meetings and conferences and dinners he would have to attend, keeping him away from his country, his people, and his duties as the Black Panther, he may have rethought his position. There was barely a moment to think about how much change was going to crash upon his shoulders when he finally did rest.
There were, however, some benefits to staying so busy. T'Challa got to make a real difference, feeling the weight of the guilt he carried over the failures of his father lessen each time looked into the awe-struck eyes of a young child and knew that he was going to change the course of their life for the better. No one was ever going to end up like Killmonger, not if he had any say in it.
T'Challa barely thought of Nakia.
They had tried so hard to give things a second chance, to pick up where they had left off. But time and distance had worn a hole in their relationship that could not be patched no matter how hard they tried. It was best, they decided, to part ways as friends once and for all. Better friends than bitter strangers driven apart by their differences.
Still, it was difficult to remain at a distance. Nakia was somewhere in this room. She had to be; as the forerunner of the Wakandan Outreach Centers, she was the face of the Wakandan people. This conference was her third outing this week, T'Challa's as well, traveling from the initial meeting at the UN to the central hub in California and now to the up-and-coming satellite site in New York City. Many people would wish to speak to her, far more than those who wished to speak with him. Even if he wanted, T'Challa doubted he would be able to get a single word in before Nakia was whisked away by reporters, ambassadors, and governors alike.
In a sea of politicians, it was easy to get lost. Though technically one of them, T'Challa always felt separate. Whether that was due to the constant disguise he was forced to wear or the presence of his overprotective bodyguards had yet to be determined. But T'Challa had a feeling that even once Wakanda was fully acclimated to the rest of the world, he would continue to stand out.
Someone else who stood out was an elderly bald man in a grey suit and a wheelchair. The only reason T'Challa picked him out of the crowd was due to the fact that the man was headed straight towards him, their paths about to converge. Okoye stepped forward from her silent post, ready to defend her king from the intruder. T'Challa appreciated Okoye's dedication, but it was unlikely that a man unable to walk was there to cause him any harm, so T'Challa let him approach.
"King T'Challa, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charles Xavier, and I run a school for gifted children in the upstate," the man in the chair said, his accent lofty though lacking the pretentiousness that so many others in the room held.
"And what can I do for you, Charles Xavier?"
"Wakanda has recently stepped out of the shadows as a hub for technological advancement and science, a mark of bravery that will, no doubt, change the landscape of the world," the older man spoke eloquently, something fond and respectful lingering in his tone. "I believe that we can be great allies. The students at my school truly are something. You would be surprised at what they can accomplish."
"I am well aware of the potential of gifted children," T'Challa said, thinking fondly on his sister and her brilliant mind.
The man in the chair smiled, the spark in his eyes making T'Challa wonder if Charles Xavier was privy to something he was not.
Then suddenly, it was not Charles Xavier who grabbed T'Challa's attention, but the woman appearing to his right.
She was beautiful in an ethereal way, all soft, dark curves draped in black velvet offset by hard lines of subtle muscle, easy enough to mistake for one of the Dora Milaje. Her most defining feature, the one that separated her from everyone else in the room, was the head of long white hair, pouring over her bare shoulders, falling down to the small of her back. Silver on someone so young was a strangely alluring combination, and T'Challa could not help himself from staring. The man in the chair seemed to notice, his smile growing wider.
"May I introduce you to Ororo Munroe, a former student of mine. Ororo is currently a teacher at the Institute, one of the best."
"Your Majesty."
Her greeting was formal, head dipping into a polite bow as her arms reached to cross in front of her chest. The accent was clearly American, but there was a familiar lilt underneath that told him that she too was far from home.
T'Challa said nothing in return, finding that his brain could not connect with his mouth, no words escaping his deft lips.
"I was just telling the king that he could benefit from partnering with us," Charles Xavier told Ororo, carrying the conversation forward while T'Challa gathered his thoughts.
"Yes, you should come tour the mansion. I assure you, you have never seen anything quite like it."
No, nothing quite like this, he agreed silently, entranced by pale blue eyes that pinned him where he stood.
"Then, consider me invested."
Very invested, his mind added without hesitation, extremely aware that he had not stopped looking at Ororo for a single moment.
"Wonderful," Ororo said with a blindingly white smile, pale blue eyes finally sliding from his to glance down at the man in the wheelchair. "We should go, Professor. Logan called - business to attend to back at the mansion."
"Yes," Charles Xavier agreed, studying Ororo closely, concentration lines creasing his forehead. "Please, do excuse us. It was a pleasure talking to you, Your Majesty."
"The pleasure was mine."
Charles Xavier wheeled away, navigating through the crowds with ease, but Ororo remained behind. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small slip of paper, holding it out for T'Challa to take.
"What is this?" he asked, taking it regardless.
"The number to the school, in case you ever want to go on that tour," she said simply, T'Challa's eyes widening as he realized the value of what she was handing him. "It's a direct line."
T'Challa was too stunned to say or do anything other than watch Ororo saunter away.
Okoye was standing off to the side, watching the interaction with amusement. She kept her facial expression schooled, only the smug upward pull of her lips giving her away as she sidled up to her king.
"You froze."
T'Challa tipped his head back and groaned, pocketing the number somewhere he was sure not to lose it. He could only hope that when he used it, he would have something more worthwhile to say.