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Known for its great expanse of desert, Nevada is one of California's neighbouring states. It shall also become known to her as the state within American where Erik will first meet his cousin. Sitting upon the bonnet of the truck Erik had hired, Harrie Potter plants her chin into the palm of her hands, elbows resting upon the meat of her thighs and her boots against the truck's grill. They've stopped by a petrol station (where prices are ridiculously low, Harrie notes, when compared against English charges. Then again, her own country proudly boasts of the NHS; she'd rather take free health-care than cheap fuel prices. Especially when she can get around with the twist of her heels and a moment of severe discomfort. Leaning against the side of the truck, Erik's topping up the tank with the casual ease that he's done this plenty of times. In truth, Harrie still doesn't know exactly what his role is in the army (is he even army, or is it navy? All she knows it he's special Ops) but she can assume now that he's topped up more than his share of vehicles. Adjusting the collar of her coat, she watches the other occupants of the stop with keen eyes, taking in all that she can see. There's a small family of four, both children under five, also present, seemingly packed up. Either going to or returning from a family reunion, given the amount of brightly wrapped presents that reside within the boot; she can see the tops of the pile through a half-misted windshield.
"Oi, Snowdrop! Move your ass." Head tilting back, Harrie watches Erik ram the pump back into position, his body coiled with a tension she'd never witnessed in him before. Oh, she's seen him tense, seen his shoulders tighten into a hard line from which the world could probably be carried, but she had thought those previous motions were his limit. Turns out he's got a much higher threshold than she'd previously thought. A maximum capacity that he's near enough reached by now. Unwilling to submit to the fight he's clearly itching for (from her or the first idiot to bubble his way into Erik's path), Harrie hops off the hood and scampers around the side, peeling the truck door open to clamber in. And she does mean clamber. American pick-up trucks are ridiculously big and she's closer to five foot than six; getting inside this beast really does mean hiking her leg up. Shuffling along the bench, Harrie buckles herself in, flicking her gaze over to Erik when he starts up the engine. They've been driving with a silence between them so far, only the quiet hum of the radio providing a shallow background as opposed to a nothingness that would have made things even more uncomfortable. They've not said a word to each other since Erik asked if she was tagging along and Harrie had agreed. She has no plans to go with him to Wakanda, just to see him off (just to ensure this isn't some elaborate scheme to off the competition to the throne; she highly doubts it given the genuine emotion behind Prince T'Challa's eyes and words but better safe than sorry).
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They've spent all day and most of the night driving. It could have taken only 9 hours, but Erik had decided upon the scenic route for Merlin knows what reason. Harrie can recall informing him she hadn't the slightest idea how to drive a car (and she's bitten her tongue at the condescending look he'd shot her at that admission) given that the only vehicle she had access to was Sirius' motorbike, she had no real plans to learn. That'd meant she'd had to magic the truck to drive itself for three hours while her idiot of a soulmate caught a cat-nap.
As the sunlight slowly begins to dawn in the east, Erik's sleeping head drops to reside upon her own and he lets out a low near-growl of a snore, one that had Harrie pressing her knuckles to her teeth in an attempt to not laugh. He's utterly out of it, slouched across the bench with his heavy shoulder pressing into hers. Wants to be in tip-top condition for his meeting (hopefully not a confrontation) with his cousin. T'Challa had seemed like a nice enough man when Harrie had spent that one dance with him, polite and well-mannered. The exact opposite of Erik. She still wouldn't trade them in.
They rumble past an abandoned barn or two, the uneven road surfacing would probably have jolted the truck a hell of a lot more before Harrie had worked her magic. Erik sleeps on. He doesn't snore again.
Soon enough, they're pulling over outside the abandoned post office in the unoccupied town of Adaven. While the rumble of the truck had presented no problem for Erik to sleep on through, the sudden absence of motion wakes him instantly, muscles going tense. Then his body heat is gone from her side as he sits up, eyes scanning their surroundings. He notices the only other at the same time she does, only, Harrie recognises T'Challa. Erik's never met him before, after all, for all that he's probably done his research on him. T'Challa might not have known of Erik's existence, but Erik sure knew of his. He knows of Wakanda, knows who his father is; Harrie had been in that same place. Had done her frenzied research to try piecing together her parents' lives, who they knew and how, tried retracing their every footstep through the twenty-one years they'd both lived. Erik probably has a wealth of information to hand.
"Hey," Harrie whispers, unwilling to speak above that low tone given the gravity of the current situation. Erik doesn't do her the courtesy of turning to look at her when she addresses him, but she doesn't really expect him to. Not when what he's been chasing after for so long is right in front of him. Not when it's right there, just a mere moment from his fingertips. "Let me know how everything goes." The unspoken 'I'm not going with you but I will be worried' passes between them; Erik's jaw tightens in response. Finally, he drags his eyes away from the distant figure of T'Challa, looking at her instead. Even with the sunlight streaking in through the east facing window, his eyes are dark, lips twisting up in a tight little smile.
"Unfinished business, Snowdrop. Don't you go forgettin' that." He taps once at her forearm, the point where her soulmark is hidden beneath the sleeve of her jumper. Harrie, Harrie still doesn't know where her mark resides upon him. But it feels wrong, clunky and staged to ask at this point. Not when those are apparently his last words to her for the time being, the last sentence (a demand, what a surprise) before he starts a new chapter in his life. It's about time she gets back to her own really, she's lingered in America long enough. There are people to help everywhere, that is true. She's also travelling to see the world and has yet to hit up Asia. They're going their separate ways, yet again. Even though it hasn't been long since they last met in person, barely more than a month has passed by in truth.
Erik gets out the truck, lugging the pack he'd stuffed in the footwell up onto his shoulders as he goes. Harrie watches him approach T'Challa, watches their first interaction. It seems jolted and rough, T'Challa asking questions and Erik responding to them with short, snappish answers. She can't hear them but, oh, she can see them. After so many years of listening to him rant and rave about this, that and the other, Harrie can tell when he doesn't want to speak. She hopes it all goes well, that Erik gets what he wants out of this.
She doesn't even know what that is, however.
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T'Challa doesn't ask any more questions about Harrie after that first one. She's not coming along, end of story. Irritatingly, he recognises why even with the reason remaining unspoken between them. She's aware enough that Wakanda is an isolated country by their own design and desires. Recognises that he's an outsider and he needs to integrate in some way or another. She's not tryna muscle in on his life and, even with how fucking worried she is (which, in itself is hilarious), she's doing her best to help him in the only way she can at the moment. By not highlighting how different he is from the rest of them. All those people who live in Wakanda, while he might have a key to get inside, he also is the only one born outside. Having a soulmate from the outside, a white soulmate at that, will just make things that more obvious.
Sitting in the jet that's so fucking advanced Erik wouldn't even know where to start with piloting it (that's a lie, he knows he'd start with inspecting the dash and the controls and his big brain would help him run it from there), he eyes his cousin cautiously. T'Challa genuinely has no fucking clue what happened to his uncle N'Jobu, that much is clear. There'd been genuine pleasure and happiness in those eyes when they'd first landed on him. He'd even gone to greet him with a hug, like how those long-lost relatives meet up in the movies. Fuck that shit; Erik had put the brakes on that right away. He's not doing that mushy shit, not with the family that left him out in the cold, not with the family who'd never bothered to look into N'Jobu's life enough to realise he had a damn kid. Not when it's T'Challa's father that killed him. Oh, Erik's sure it's him. Utterly positive; there can only be one Black Panther after all and those markings on his father's body couldn't be cause by anything other than the claws of Wakanda's 'protector'. Fuck that shit. Erik's coming with a can of worms so rotten it's gonna tear the family of Wakanda apart. He almost feels sorry for T'Challa who's so ignorant of what his father is truly like that he's inviting Erik into his home with open arms. Has even come to pick him up all on his own, no doubt slipping whatever royal guard should be on him. If they don't get a pink slip (or whatever the Wakandan equivalent is) then Erik's been told a shit ton of lies about the country's efficiency by his dad. And Baba didn't lie. Not to him. With how… pleased his cousin seems to be with finding him, Erik almost feels bad for the clusterfuck he's going to bring down on Wakanda with his presence. Almost. He does feel a bit sorry for T'Challa, sheltered as he is, there's clearly no way it would ever cross the other royal's mind to think blood would betray blood. Erik… Erik, whose head used to swim with the thought of his Black Panther uncle, found his daddy with panther claws in his chest. Erik is all to aware that blood can mean nothing when it comes down to the line.
"How long have you known her?" It's the first time that T'Challa has spoken up since the first shutdown of conversation; it's less invasive than the question of their current status and Erik chews over the enquiry in his head. His cousin is… not bad. He's sheltered as fuck and clearly doesn't know too much of what's going on in the world. Ignorance is bliss n' all that shit. But, while he's not as guilty as the fucker currently occupying the throne with his blood drenched fingers, he's still guilty. Guilty with his ignorance, his unwillingness to go out and actually look, to see the world as it is and not just the ritzy tourist spots they parade before royalty.
"I was fifteen when I woke up in a meeting place," Erik admits, drumming his fingers against the side of his thigh, right over the top of his soulmark. T'Challa looks as if he wants to continue his questioning but what lays beyond the windscreen is what demands Erik's attention. He's out of his seat and on his feet in the time it takes T'Challa to exhale, peering into the thick jungle shrubbery his idiot of a cousin is about to crash through. Unless…
They pass through it all, an illusion created by technology, the forcefields Baba used to speak of. Erik watches Wakanda, the near-mythical land of his childhood, open up before him. It unrolls across the landscape, a rich vibrant swath of colour. It's exactly as he pictured it and yet, so much more, all at the same time. Thought's of Harrie, thoughts of T'Challa, all the shit he's been through; it all leaves his mind. In that moment, all that matters is Wakanda, the country of his people stretching out before him, open and welcoming.
.
The sensation lasts for all of thirty minutes. Specifically, the thirty minutes it takes T'Challa to land the jet and walk him to the palace. The thirty minutes it takes them to slip past the guards (his cousin is suspiciously light and quick with reactions better than Erik's own apex reflexes). The thirty minutes that runs to a halt when he finally sets eyes upon his uncle. King T'Chaka sits with the council of tribe elders, half way through an address when he spots his son. His sentence crumbles when he spots Erik standing next to him. Do the others see the panic that sets into the eyes of their fuckward king? Or is it just Erik who witnesses it? Just Erik who catches the surprise, the sadness, the disappointment and the hint of terror? The nostalgia should be hitting him hard; while he's no carbon copy, Erik knows there's enough of his dad in him to ensure they have some physical resemblance to each other. "Prince T'Challa, who is it you bring before us?" The man who speaks does so around a turquoise lip plate, his eyes narrowed. In response, Erik pulls the necklace up from beneath the collar of his shirt, flashing the singlet ring that resides between a cushion of little keys and witch-made talismans.
"I am N'Jadaka, son of Prince N'Jobu." Erik wants it to come out as a statement but it tears from his lips as more of a snarl. As the people gasp, as the person who Erik can only assume is the queen of this country shoots her husband a horrified look, he strides forwards, ignoring the way the Dora raise their spears at him (him, a member of the royal family who was left out in the cold and so far away from their protection). He meets the gaze of the fucker who dares call himself king, meets his gaze and feels his gut blaze, feels it burn and spark and his blood run like lava, hot and sluggish. His hand is up before he can even think better of it, one finger pointing towards T'Chaka, his heart thundering away behind his ribcage. "I found my daddy with panther claws in his chest! You ain't a king, you're a murderer! And I challenge you for the throne!"
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It passes quickly. The preparations that is. Erik snarls that he doesn't need no fancy audience. Of course, that's only after the king agrees to his challenge, even as his queen screams for him to not entertain this outside. Erik had smirked at her, addressed her as auntie. It'd fallen from his lips like poison, dripping in venom and aimed to hurt, to sting and burn. Funny, he's got an aunt, Harrie's got an aunt. Neither of them like that relative, but Erik doesn't actively hate this woman. 'S not like she knew she was married to a fucking murderer, to a bastard that'd kill his own brother. Stretching out the kinks in his shoulders, Erik considers the spear he'd been handed before shaking his head. He snaps it in two, twirling the pieces between his hands, forcing himself to become familiar with the weapon he'll soon be fighting for his life with. It's not like it'll be a difficult fight; T'Chaka's old and outta shape. Erik's in his prime, has trained in several different styles of marital arts and has severed in the military until… until a day and a half ago, when he went AWOL after Harrie admitted to having a way to contact his Cuz. Oh well. S'not like he's going back, is it? Lips curling, Erik steps out into the field, the thunderous rush of water echoing in his ears as it encases his feet in cool, foamy liquid. Already his eyes are analysing the place, taking in the obstacles, the points that could aid him, the points that could cause an issue. The sharp jut of the rock ledges, the way water disappears over the edge into a canyon deeper than he can estimate with sight alone. Twisting the sort spear in one hand, he deposits the other half, snatching up the shield as a second thought. Harrie's talismans clank together alongside keys and his old man's ring.
Only, it's not T'Chaka that's dressed for combat.
Erik listens with clenched teeth and a tight jaw as he hears how T'Challa shall fight in his father's place, how his cuz is already the Black Panther, gifted by Bast and the heart-shaped herb. He watches as T'Challa has the power of the Black Panther striped away from him, so that they may fight evenly. Fairly. It's the first fucking time someone has ever taken the precautions needed to make a fight fair for Erik. It's fucking ridiculous. His cousin's eyes glimmer with hurt and betrayal. There's a spark of hope there too, as if he thinks Erik will back down. He's only known T'Challa for a day, only known is cousin a day. That's not worth giving up the goals he's spent a lifetime cultivating. Not when the fucker who murdered his father is mere feet from him, when justice is so close he can taste it. Not when Uncle James (or whatever his fucking true name is) is looking at him in ill-concealed horror. No, it's only T'Challa, out of all the fuckers here, who has cared. Maybe that's why Erik goes outta his way to make things fair, throwing one of the two good-luck charms he's got at his cuz. He doesn't explain what it is but T'Challa still pockets it anyway. T'Chaka's watching them, his wife by his side. He knows her name, has done as much research as he can on the country that isolates itself. But like fuck is Erik gonna bother to address her by it, not when she dubbed him a charlatan and an outsider.
Erik tastes blood in his mouth as he delivers the first strike.
Cuz puts up a good fight, but in the end, it's just not good enough. He doesn't yield, refuses to do so. And Erik actually takes a moment to allow him to do it, gives him the opportunity. But he doesn't. T'Challa tries to gather himself for one more attack, to strike yet again. Erik throws him off the side of the cliff. In the accompanying scream of disbelief and denial, in the cries against his very existence, he feels the slightest touch of regret. Cuz hadn't been a bad person, had loved his family and clearly not believed they could do no wrong. That sheltered attitude, that assurance in Wakanda and its inability to do no wrong had cost him. Faced with Erik, the physical evidence that not just Wakanda but his own father, that T'Chaka was capable of great mistakes and great crimes, had weakened him. T'Challa had come into the fight unsure and had paid the price for it. He'd lost and Erik is a king now.
He wonders what Harrie'll make of it all.
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Didn't wanna get anyone's hopes up in the last chapter, but I managed to finish it yesterday! Praise the fanficiton gods. (I'm as shocked as anyone else to be honest). I hope you like the 'ending' which is really just a set up for what's coming up next.
So keep an eye out for 'like the grass catches the rain'.
Lots of love,
Tsume
xxx