Time is moving, moving quickly, and it can't be wasted on self-reflection. There are things to be done, affairs to be taken of, meetings to be had, and the little gnat buzzing about his skull will just have to wait for later.
T'Challa knows this is a flawed way of thinking and that if any of his confidants could hear him, they'd be quick to insist he rest while the Council assumes his duties. He knows that this will likely cause him more harm than good in the long run, but what else is there to do? The country's still recovering from the loss of their former king and roiling from Erik's reveal; T'Challa's already taken his mourning periods. He can't afford anymore time off.
He's running on two hours of sleep, six cups of coffee, and an electroshock band that Shuri would kill him over if she knew he was using it to stay awake. It's not the most conventional nor the healthiest method, but it gets the job done. And the job needs to be done.
Wakanda's been out for five weeks, but for all the attention it's getting, you'd've thought it'd been ringing the UN's bell for as long as the rest of the world. Because the world is amazed, and the world is seeking answers, of course, but the world is also outraged. All those resources, all that tech, all those intelligent people, and no one's stepped forward to assist the world while it shits itself. It's a travesty, a disgrace, for all that potential to be placed in the hands of people who obviously have no idea how to use it.
"It's astonishing, really", T'Challa murmurs as he stares at the TV embedded in the wall. "I don't think I've ever seen another person that convinced of their own bullshit."
Nakia rolls her eyes, kicks her feet up onto the couch, and snatches the remote off the coffee table before them. "You really don't watch enough TV."
"Yes. And I'm glad I don't." He scrunches up his face and places his head in the space where her neck meets her shoulder. "Please turn to something less nauseating."
With a quick dance of her fingers, Nakia's turned the channel to Nat Geo Wild. For once, the big cats aren't on; today, it's polar bears, and some little cub's fallen into a divot in the snow. T'Challa purrs and snuggles closer to Nakia.
On the couch beside them, Erik sits, reeking of death and false hubris as he waits for T'Challa to acknowledge him.
Nakia combs her fingers through his hair and hums; her fingers brush over his forehead, faltering when they sense the heat emanating from there. Her features contort with worry, and she taps his chin until he looks up at her. When he does, she finds red, unfocused eyes staring back at her.
"How are you feeling", she asks. "I know I've been gone for a while and-"
"Nakia. It's fine." T'Challa wills a smile to his face, sits up, and pulls her close to him. There's a protective rumbling in his chest, and it's growing because Erik's materialized himself to the opposite end of the couch. T'Challa pulls Nakia closer and tucks his head beneath her neck. "It's fine."
"You've barely said a word all day." She flicks her eyes to his untouched plate of beans, cabbage, and honey bread. "You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry", he protests with a half-hearted shrug.
"This is your favorite dish."
"I hate cabbage, and you know what beans do to my stomach."
Nakia chuckles, biting playfully at his ear, and pulls herself from his embrace. She raises her eyebrows, then says, "You're just bitter because I won't give you the recipe. And you didn't have any problem eating them last time. Til after of course."
T'Challa hums and leans against the back of their couch. He watches her, content and relaxed for the first time in what feels like forever. "You always did know me best." He reaches out and takes hold of her wrists, ignoring Erik as he grips his shoulders with pus-filled fingers.
"You're on edge", Nakia notes, and she drags her fingers over the taut-muscles in his hands.
"I'm fine." Erik digs deeper, and T'Challa's skin peels.
"You're not." She frowns; she wraps her hands around his and watches him. "You're hurt, and you're tired."
"I'm fine", T'Challa insists. "I just have to get through these next few weeks, and everything will be all right. This mess with the UN and everyone will die out, and the kingdom will return to normal. We just have to be patient."
"Patient?" Erik disappears, then reappears behind Nakia, staring at T'Challa with dismay. He scoffs, waves a hand through the air, then plops back onto his couch, kicking his feet up on the armrest. "Right", he drawls. "Because people are just gonna forget the fact that you abandoned them; they're just gonna magically not care that you kept your precious little metals and your highly esteemed doctors to yourself when they needed it most. But." He waves his hand again, steals T'Challa's drink from the table, and takes a sip. When the glass comes away, his flakey lips are red and alive with wine. He drags his tongue over the skin and winks. "By all means, waiting's okay with me. After all. I've got all the time in the world."
"-gonna get yourself killed one of these days, always putting yourself last." Nakia opens her mouth to continue, then, following T'Challa's line of sight, turns to Erik. When she sees nothing, she turns back to him and waves a hand in his face. "What are you doing?"
T'Challa rubs his fingers against his eyes and shakes his head. "Nothing, nothing. I just...sorry. My head's in another place."
She continues to stare, her gaze unrelenting. "You aren't sleeping either, are you?" When all he does is remain quiet, his gaze fixated on his fingernails, Nakia inhales and turns to face the TV. The program's flicked to commercial, advertising some medication or another that arguably does more damage than it does good. Her eyes narrowed, she snatches hold of the remote once more and turns the TV off. T'Challa remains as he is.
"I just need to get through this", he murmurs tiredly. "Living it's the worst, but if I can bear it, then I'll be fine."
"So you're just gonna suffer", she questions, and her eyes are furious. It's endearing, her passion, just as it's always been. Even if what they are has changed, that burning need to protect and care for him is still there. T'Challa smiles and squeezes her in his arms, comforted by the vanilla scent of her shampoo. Nakia pulls a face but relents, settling into his warm embrace. But she's still ignited, and when she looks up at him, her eyes could turn the kingdom to a charred rubble.
T'Challa reaches out; two fingers rest beneath her chin, and another, his thumb, drags against her cheek. "I'll be okay", he tells her with a smile. "I always am."
She doesn't look at all convinced. But before she can say more, T'Challa's taken the remote from her hands and turned the TV back on. The polar bears are gone, replaced with some bitter lizards in the Sahara. Nakia sighs and drops her head against his chest. T'Challa closes his eyes and stares into the TV, ignoring the clammy presence settling over his skin.