D-DAY ANNIVERSARY GALA

1 HOUR LATER

Shuri's presentation was nothing short of a marvel.

She'd spent the last year designing something Tony Stark only dreamed of but never came close to actually achieving. A suit of armor around the world. Ten domes to start, placed in the most vulnerable nations chosen by the U.N. They improve on the singular technology that Wakanda has used for centuries to conceal itself and protect itself from the rest of the world.

What she has done sends tidal waves of hope, skepticism, awe, and excitement through the normally somber affair. She has effectively turned a memorium into a celebration - a dedication to the lives they lost by protecting those that remain far better than they ever had.

When her presentation is done, the great hall is consumed by applause and chatter for a solid ten minutes. Shuri and the royal council, joined by key U.N. officials who've partnered with her to roll out the Dome Initiative, stand and receive graciously until Okoye and the Dora tap to announce dinner.

Steve doesn't get to come anywhere close to Shuri for another hour.

His tension hardens to steel inside, his poker face firmly in place, and he clamps down on his raging desire to seek her out.

The crowd is escorted outside through the opening walls of the dais, which slide back to reveal a spacious garden dining area under a large, luminous moon. The land is elevated somewhat; he can make out the sparkling lights of Central Wakanda below them.

There are rows and rows of long, opulently decorated tables and what looks like a hundred royal servers standing at attention to greet them.

Steve escorts Hill and Nat outside on either arm, Rhodey taking up the rear as he chats with someone he actually likes. Everyone is talking about the domes, about Shuri's brilliance. How long it will take to implement her program all over the world, what this means for global military relations, sanctions, ratified treaties that need review with this new development. Some blowhards, Steve overhears, even compare it to an arms race - could the tech be replicated; would it end up on the private market like Stark's war machines before he became Iron Man the philanthropist and hero?

It's enough to make him want to turn and head back to the palace. But he's here for Shuri.

He isn't leaving until he has a dance with her. Just one dance. That's not too much to want.

Eventually, once they're all seated and being served, the Queen and Queen Mother venture outside to join them. Shuri's a knockout, her smile as radiant as ever as she glides up to the head of their center table and bows graciously to yet more applause.

Once she's seated, however, the questions begin. Virtually the entire dinner is full of them.

Steve, Natasha, Hill, and Rhodey spend the meal sending each other looks and holding back heated commentary as they listen to the attendees around them pelt questions about her work to her.

He gets a little upset, even, drawing more than one kick from Natasha under the table. He clenches his jaw and his fist tightens threateningly around his fork when some Nobel Prize-winning journalist from Belgium asks the Queen if she isn't just dooming the world to more powerful threats than Thanos with this show of technological might. Questioning her motives, her ego; comparing it to Stark's.

"Tony Stark was a hero," a fed up Rhodey interjects loudly, drawing hundreds of eyes their way.

Steve says nothing, sitting rigidly, the tension inside him hard and heavy.

"And I for one am grateful to the Queen for her dedication to completing his vision." Rhodey raises his glass to her, a soft smile emerging as he does so. "Thank you, your Majesty. This is a night we'll never forget."

"The Avengers stand with Wakanda," Captain America finally adds, appreciating his friend's candor. He raises his glass, his eyes only for Shuri. She is far down at the end of the table, but their gazes lock and he can see gratitude and relief in her eyes that they have her back. "We'll help however we can."

Nat and Hill follow suit, and soon the rest of the table, effectively silencing the naysayers. For now.

"Wakanda appreciates the Avengers for their support," Shuri grants in a smooth, regal tone, making his chest swell with pride to call her a close friend. "Now I suggest we all stop talking business and enjoy this gorgeous night together," she announces to the garden at large. Being the queen, the crowd hushes its chatter to hear her. She stands, her eyes rising to sweep across the table, glancing over his and lingering on him purposefully. "I think I'm in the mood to dance. Everyone?"

There is applause in agreement all around them, and he can only sit back and admire how easily she commands a room. More importantly - she has just invited him to dance. His tension gnashes at his insides with fervor. The crowd drowns out his deep inhalation as everyone gets to their feet.

"Jesus, she's got them all eating out of her palm," Hill intones, impressed, as everyone follows her lead back into the grand, museum-like hall. "Not even King T'Challa could work a room like this."

"I'm over here taking notes..." Natasha mutters in response, raising an approving eyebrow as she watches the queen collect her mother and walk arm-in-arm with her inside for the first dance.

The royal band starts a jaunty, infectious, celebratory tune as soon as the Queen sets foot on the floor. She and her mother move easily to the beat, their energy and spirit flooding through the gathering crowd as everyone watches and claps or sings along. Wakandan citizens join in from all five tribes, all moving around their queen in a well-practiced traditional dance. Steve, Rhodey, Nat, and Hill look on as the family, friends, and council members who lost their king, warrior, and half their loved ones show the world their strength and perseverance through dance.

He only has eyes for Shuri, however, watching her sway her hips sensually, then effortlessly switch to strutting powerfully with her kinfolk to the increasingly intense drums playing out a modified version of what his ears recognize as T'Challa (and before him T'Chaka)'s old theme. He realizes that there is a new instrument, one high and sweet, that's been introduced, changing it. It reminds him of Shuri. At this point, she is the center of his and everyone else's focus. How could she not be?

She moves toward him in the dancing circle, reaching out her hand for him and Natasha.

Steve accepts, entering the circle and doing his best to keep up, unable to take his eyes off of her.

She smiles warmly, happily, up at him as their fingers lace together, Natasha joining her on the other side between the Queen Mother and Okoye. "Didn't see that one coming, did you?" Shuri mutters, pretending to instruct him on the right timing of his steps. He shakes his head, marveling at her brilliance for the umpteenth time that night.

"Not at all, your Majesty," he confesses, letting her see just how impressed and captivated he is as he holds his own with the traditional dance moves.

She rolls her eyes and pokes him with a slender finger. "Enough with the 'your majesty' stuff, Mr. Blue Suit! Dance! Faster!"

Steve laughs and shakes his head at her teasing, but does as she asks without question.

They dance faster. The spinning, stomping circle picks up more people around it, eventually sweeping up Hill and Rhodey in the human chain, too. The drums get louder, the circle picks up more people, their stomping feet and calls of celebration and mourning alike filling the space, bouncing off the art, flowing out into the night on the fragrant Wakandan breeze that sweeps through the room.

Then, the Dora Milaje takes over as the band smoothly transitions to a traditional Wakandan war beat. The female soldiers tap their spears to the beat, dancing with power and precision that temporarily stuns the crowd's movement. They snake their way in lines that form a star pattern through the crowd, joining together in the center to command focus. Okoye stomps her way over to head up their ranks, leading them in a mesmerizing routine that sends chills and exclamations through the crowd.

Steve himself is simply delighted to have Shuri keep hold of his hand when their human circle gets broken up. She dances around him like a cape on display by a matador. He tries not to let his pride and awe cause all of the blood to rush to his cheeks (or much further south) as he holds her hand and lets her use him however she likes to show off her dance moves.

He tries not to stare, but by now Nat's warning about impropriety is a foggy memory. His awareness of his surroundings; of who might be watching; has dimmed, obscured by a hazy cloud of want. He wants her closer. He wants to look into her eyes, see if he can recognize the same things inside her that are inside him. The sharp edge of recognition stabs at the tension churning and burning inside him like magma in its rawest form.

He gets his cue. The tempo transitions yet again - the royal band is remarkably skilled at this - and dives into a more intimate, somber waltz. Before he can stop it, Steve's free hand is sliding across the intricate, hand-stitched lace covering Shuri's torso, hooking around her slender waist, and pulling her closer to him.

He towers over her, gently maneuvering her into position so he can lead her in the one dance they'll have tonight that he actually knows. Shuri's eyes rise to meet his, her cool grin melting into a soft, somewhat apprehensive pursing of her lips.

"May I have this dance, your Majesty?" Steve breathes.

"You may." She nods, smirking at his formalness and use of her sovereign moniker, her hand sliding up his arm, caressing the velveteen fabric of his tux as she goes. She gets into position and he begins to lead her around the center of the dance floor. He tries to perform the dance properly, like a gentleman, but he can't help holding her just a little closer than necessary. They don't break eye contact.

"Honestly, though," he whispers down at her, unable to help the tenderness in his voice, "you were amazing tonight, Shuri."

"Really?" She sounds like that sweet teenager again as she gazes up at him, the tawny iridescence of her mocha eyes flickering with self-doubt. "I don't know. I feel like I'm going to get ripped apart in the press once all this is over," she gestures with her chin at their opulent surroundings.

Steve can't even bring himself to take his eyes off of her, ignoring everyone and everything around them as he tugs her just a little bit closer. "I think Tony would be honored. Rhodey is. I am. The press will come around. Well, some won't." He shrugs, making her chuckle. "Does it matter? You're doing the right thing."

"Thank you. I'm so glad you came, Steve," Shuri sighs up at him, leaning into him. He inhales her scent, smelling the flowers in the royal garden, spices from the shea butter she's wearing, essential oils in her long, twisted locs, and something just so fresh and light and Shuri that he's close to leaning in and inhaling his fill from the crook of her elegant neck. Like sunshine, he thinks. "And I knew it! That shade of blue goes perfectly with Captain America's dreamy eyes, eh?"

Now she's teasing him, but his tension is churning too hard and too intensely for him to feel embarrassed. He gazes down at her, sweeping her around the dance floor without having to pay attention to the familiar steps of the waltz. The cocktail of serious reverence and...yes...desire...present in his 'dreamy eyes' render Shuri speechless. She loses her snarky expression under the intensity of Steve's gaze. "You like it? I wanted to impress you tonight. Did it work?"

"It did. Of course. I keep telling you, I have amazing taste." She tries again to re-establish their normally droll banter, but he doesn't want to let go of this moment yet.

"Did you pick this out for me just to gloat?" He twirls her, dips her, brings her back up slowly. "Or was this the same as the wagon, the gifts, the royal suite…?"

"What do you mean?" She frowns a little, causing him to tighten his grips on her hand and waist. He can't help it. His tension gnashes impatiently. If he wasn't still vaguely aware of the huge crowd surrounding them (Natasha somewhere in there no doubt watching his every move), he would lean in and whisper his answer with all of the affection he's feeling right now on full display.

"I mean…" he takes a deep breath and lets it out, his chest inflating and deflating slowly against hers, filling the small space between them. "You don't have to commission tuxes or bid on vintage wagons on eBay to get me around, Shuri. Just say the word, and I'm here. I'll always be here for you."

Even if all you want is for someone to make you feel good. He thinks; doesn't say.

But she knows. She can see it written all over his face, etched into the azure eyes that match the tux she so carefully picked out for him. With him in his tux and her in her royal blue gown, they look an equal and opposite match gliding around the dance floor. Most of the crowd has stopped dancing in favor of watching. They look that good, that coordinated and in tune with one another; totally in their own world together.

Shuri's eyes darken just a bit, and Steve's heart pounds. He thinks he can see it. The same tension, burning deep down inside her, longing for release.

"What exactly are you offering, Steve?"

His eyes fall from hers to her neck, the intricate details of her gown as the lace stretches across her chest, her lips, her incredibly delectable-looking skin. He shakes his head very slowly, his breath turning shallow as he tries not to let his thoughts - thoughts he scarcely allows to manifest for fear of their overwhelming intensity - show all over his face.

"I'm offering whatever my Queen desires."

He emphasizes the last three words, his eyes boring into hers. It's her turn to get caught up in her breath. He can't quite read her reaction and isn't given the time, because the waltz is over and applause has invaded their intimate little bubble.

Another song strikes up, and now Ramonda is striding confidently toward him and Shuri. He reluctantly releases the Wakandan Queen and tries to bow as graciously as he can. Ramonda takes Shuri's place and Steve is struck by just how close he'd come to leaning in and kissing this woman's daughter right in front of every international person of importance left in the world. Way to go, Rogers, he thinks as he carefully constructs a mask of polite mirth for the Queen Mother. Nat's never gonna let you live this down.

Shuri is swept away by one of the council members from the River Tribe, out of his reach and sight. Ramonda only offers gracious small talk about the evening's success as they dance, but there is a gleam in her eyes that makes him fear he's given himself away tonight, big time. He can't even tell when exactly his act fell to shambles (if one could even call it that), but he knows he's good and fucked by the time the dance is over and the lights change for the In Memorium portion of the proceedings.

His suspicion is confirmed by the look on Natasha's face when she finds him and makes her way over. She turns to him without hesitation as the holographic film memorializing their most famous lost ones plays out above their heads. "What part of 'be careful, the world is watching' did I not make clear?"

"Give it a rest, Nat," he grunts under his breath, avoiding eye contact in favor of torturing himself with the faces of the Snapped. "It was just a dance. I promised her I would."

Natasha glares up at him for a while, but relents when he refuses to bend to her will. She doesn't look as if she has much will to argue, though, choosing to find the bar again. Hill and Rhodey join her. Steve only stays long enough to grab another useless drink and then wanders off to look at some of the art. The gala is wrapping up soon, and he still hasn't taken any time to really study any of it.

He mostly just wants to be alone with his thoughts. How is he going to get himself out of this?

Can he? He wanders through the spacious halls, nodding in greeting to a stationed Dora whenever he passes her. Do you even want to, his mind tugs at his resolve. He knows the answer is no. He wants to let this feeling inside him pull him forward until he discovers its destination - he wants to throw himself into something other than grief for once. But not just anything. Shuri. He wants Shuri.

Fuck.

Steve stands beneath an abstract mural of the Black Panther lineage. Bast gazes down at him from her protective stance above her bloodline, connected through the magic of the Heart-Shaped Herb. He had studied the lore, and knew from many conversations with T'Challa and Shuri, that Bast was this country's great warrior goddess. The spirit that gave Wakanda its might, its longevity, its thriving success on Earth.

"Got any romantic advice for an old, out-of-touch soldier?" He mutters up at her, sipping his gin. She says nothing, her gleaming eyes boring into his soul. "Right. I'm not even close to worthy of her, am I?"

"Trust a centurion to be the one wandering around talking to himself at a party…"

The sound of her high, sweet voice causes his tension to grip him viciously. He turns to see Shuri approaching, her gown making it look as if her feet aren't touching the ground.

She stops just out of his reach. He straightens up, reminding himself that she is a queen, and (even though they're pretty much alone back this far inside the gallery area) that the 'world is watching'. At the very least, a couple of eagle-eyed Dora.

"Overactive mind," he gestures with his cocktail glass to his temple. "Occupational hazard."

Shuri hugs herself, gazing up at him with such vulnerability that it takes him by surprise. Shit. He hopes he hasn't screwed up their friendship by getting carried away with his confusing feelings.

"Steve, I…" she looks down at her hands, swallowing her apprehension. "Do you know why I can't sleep these days? It's not the same as before when I was a child. Now, it's because I can't stop thinking about them. All of them. The ones we lost."

He braces himself. This is the last subject he wants to discuss, even though he knows that's too much to expect, given their surroundings and the occasion.

"I couldn't get them out of my head. Especially...him." She doesn't say his name, but Steve knows she isn't speaking about her brother. "Except, the thing is, whenever I hear your voice, all of that disappears. You make me feel like what we fought for, what we lost, it wasn't all for nothing."

It's his turn to frown. He doesn't know where she's going with this, but he cannot help being affected by how beautiful she is so vulnerable like this. She wrings her hands, her expression torn. He takes a small step toward her, wanting so badly to comfort her - physically this time - that it almost obliterates his self-control. Everything about her challenges the soldier's discipline in him, he realizes. He fears it, but he covets it.

"I don't want that to change. I don't want to lose that." She takes a step forward, too, tilting her head back to meet his eyes, he towers over her so. "You have no idea how much your friendship has meant to me over the years."

"I think I do, Shuri," he sighs hard, taking a leap of faith, closing the space. He doesn't touch, not yet. He holds his body in check, but he lets the full force of his feelings show in the eyes she likes so much. "And you won't lose that. Ever. I meant what I said...I'll always be here for you. Always."

Unable to stop himself, he lets his arm encircle her gently, tugging her closer. She braces herself with her hands on his chest, but she doesn't protest. He gazes down at her, desperate to lean in and kiss her, utterly smitten. His keen eyes roam over her exquisite visage, stopping to admire her lips. There's a soft pink tint to them tonight, he notices for the first time. He wants to kiss off the inviting color; taste it on his own lips and tongue. He wants. God, yes, he wants her.

That's what this tension he's been feeling for weeks; months; is. Unrelenting, uncompromising desire.

"You make it impossible for a man not to fall in love with you, your Majesty…" he whispers, leaning down further, trapping her in his gaze. "I can see it, now."

"Oh yeah?" She unleashes a slightly playful grin, causing that furnace heat to spark and travel through him at lightning speed. "What do you think you see, Rogers?"

And he tells the boldfaced truth; exactly what he's thinking; without thinking. "I can see why Bucky fell so damn hard. Why he never planned on leaving Wakanda after someone like you came into his life. Saved his life. Like you're saving mine."

Shuri blinks. Stiffens. And forcibly steps out of his arms. His heart drops clean through the floor.

He has just totally ruined the moment. His goddamned honesty has just lost him the one thing he'd wanted to have tonight...her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knows it...he lost her.

Shuri swallows hard and smooths the front of her gown before drawing her slender body up to its full height. She looks every bit a queen forced to put one of her subjects in his proper place just now.

"Ingcuka was my protector. He served me well." Queen Shuri informs him sternly, as if he had no idea what he was talking about. "I cared for him. He was my friend. He was your friend."

Her tone is slightly accusatory, which ignites a stubborn flare of anger that she was throwing this in his face as if confessing his feelings was some sort of betrayal. "Yeah. He was."

He stresses the 'was', challenging her. She raises an eyebrow at him, her lips parting slightly. He isn't backing down the way she'd expected. The loyal, highly-moral Captain America the world used to idolize isn't standing before her right now. The only person here tonight is Steve Rogers. Grieving, yes. Terrified, for sure. But wanting...above all...wanting. Right now, after all these years, he allows himself to be selfish. Just this once. Just tonight.

Is Shuri such a bad thing to want? Even knowing that at one time, she might've belonged to his best friend? His best friend is dust. His tension; his desire; remains. As solid and bitterly unsatisfied as ever. Tonight, for Steve, the here and now take priority. He watches Shuri to see which way she will fall.

She doesn't. There is a loud tap-tapping of the Dora spears, announcing that the evening is coming to a close. Shuri holds herself up, her hand clasping her own waist, and takes a few steps backward.

"You don't want to miss your ride back to the palace," she breathes, blinking back emotion. She looks down at the marble flooring, and when she meets his eyes again her demeanor has changed. She's retreating, and there's no changing her mind now. "I'll see you tomorrow, Steve. Goodnight."

She doesn't move for a beat as he stares her down, pleading with his eyes for her to stay, say something more. At least acknowledge that they have something between them that is more than friendship. But she doesn't. Three Dora come to collect her and she leaves with them.

Steve tosses back the last of his gin.

He is terrified.

Because he knows he can't stop now. Not only could he be forced to leave Wakanda without satisfaction or closure, but he might have now just changed their relationship forever. She might never get close to him again, for fear that he'd draw her in with his rapidly growing feelings for her.

He's also terrified because now that he understands those feelings - now that he knows for certain that his tension will not be satisfied until he has her in his arms again - there is no turning back.

Steve Rogers wants someone - badly - for the first time in seventy years. He doesn't know if he'll be able to stop wanting her, now. He doesn't let himself even debate the lengths he'll go, the things he'll sacrifice, to have what he wants.

Queen Shuri, in his bed, every night, every day, for as many nights and days as she'll allow him.