Carly's eyes refused to close for the rest of the night. Even as the sun rose and light shone through the curtains she stayed slumped on the couch, eyes clouded and skin grey. Flashes of green played behind her face, shocking her heart with each hue it changed. Her hands scraped at her soft flesh, molding and sculpting it into something unrecognizable. The thought of going back terrified her.
But she wanted to.
There was a primal need within her very soul, something acting upon her which she could never explain. She would have called it God's word, if she believed in Him. But she didn't, and it wasn't. If anything, it was something originating from a place far south from God, but not too far from home.
Her head spun so badly that her hands came up to steady it, only to find out that she hadn't been moving at all. A small whimper left her mouth hanging open, her eyes glued, lifeless, to the plaid-patterned couch. Her breaths where physically exhausting, the small rises and falls of her chest supported only through the smallest desire to live.
It became an obsession. Who was Roman? What happened? Where was I? What happened? Where did he go? What happened? How long was I falling? Who called my name? What happened? Who called my name? Who called my name?
Who called
Who called?
Who Called?
Who called my name?
Who
Who
Someone Called
Someone
My name
Who
Called
My
Name?
A bird spoke up from outside and she screamed. She couldn't see where it came from. She couldn't see anything. She couldn't see her future or her past or where she was going or had been or ever would be or was right now.
She couldn't see her father. Where was he? She just wanted her father. She wanted to see.
She flung open the curtains so hard she ripped them off the wall. She spent hours there, looking, and seeing, her hand tightly gripping the curtains as her phone in the corner finally ran out of battery.
In Wakanda, everything was a mess. Everybody was running and screaming and crying. It was so loud, yet so quiet. People talked in hushed tones sometimes, but even then it was something more. There was loss in the air, and Tony had no idea what to do about it.
He didn't mean to be disrespectful. It wasn't the fact that he had only known Shuri for a couple of weeks, or that they had only talked face-to-face twice, and the second time she spent half of it laughing at his "old ways of doing things". He wasn't disrespectful because he didn't know how to handle a loss. He knew that better than anyone. He had lost more people, close people, than he would ever care to admit.
He knew these were challenging times. He knew Shuri was the beloved princess of Wakanda, and that she did a lot, not just for her country, but for the world.
Tony wasn't dumb.
He knew that Shuri could have taught him wonderful things. Tony knew his place in the world; knew his IQ and how smart he was, and knew that Shuri easily had twice his knowledge. It made him wonder, though, was she actually smarter than him, or could he have done the same things - greater things?- if he had been raised in Wakanda as well? It was the old question of nature versus nurture. Where they born with it, or was it learned?
Howard Stark was a genius. So was Tony. But Tony liked to think of himself as smart in a different way. Tony worked hard for what he had, after he realized his mistakes. He became the man he is today through years and years of torture, blood, and hard work. Shuri was born and raised in royalty in the most technologically advanced country on the planet. How smart would they each be, if the roles were reversed? If Tony had been gifted with royalty as a child, if Shuri would have had to work hard to earn her place?
But that's where his fun little pondering always stopped. Because the questions were never true. Tony was born into royalty, in a sense. His father, the late, great Howard Stark, and Tony was the legacy. Born into wealth and destined to do great things. Shuri, struggling and mocked as she leads her country's advancement as a child. You'd have to be stupid to think she didn't work hard. And Tony Stark wasn't stupid.
So that settled it; was there truly no way to test their knowledge against each other? No fair questions to ask or un-interrupted tests to run?
That was when the disrespect set in, as far as Tony could tell. Because, yes, he felt bad. He hated to see people go through loss, no matter who was lost or who lost them. It was unfair, to the people of Wakanda, to T'Challa, and to young prince Santo. But Tony didn't know her.
However, Tony knew Carly, and the Ferris's, and the Roger's, and even aggravating little Roy Strange - who really took after his father in terms of ego. And Tony Stark could not afford to lose the time it would take to mourn a princess. He had a job to do, which was why he simply said he was sorry for Santo's loss, and retired back to Shuri's lab. They had almost finished the blueprints. Shuri had been amazed, the second time they talked, at how anything managed to shatter that amount of Vibranium. She had wanted to run tests. They had set up many things that Tony had yet to wrap his mind around. He had been excited; he was always excited to learn new things and partake in scientific experiments. But there was no more time now, and he had a portal to build.
He was alone, surrounded by amazing feats in technology, and no one was around to talk with him about any of it. Not Shuri, not Bruce - he never let himself think of Bruce - and not even Carly, who would have had no idea what was going on, but who would have stayed anyway.
His plans weren't working out. The countless diagrams he drew, the simulations he tried - nothing was working and it pissed him off. He didn't know how to run the equipment. Any other day, and he would have freaked to have a lab like this all to himself, filled to the brim with technology and science that he had never heard about. It wouldn't have mattered how many times he screwed up, he would have been happy.
But now wasn't the time for happiness. Now was the time to build that damn portal and get those kids back. Now wasn't the time to learn how to use everything, but he had too, or he would never make any progress. The portal would have to wait until Tony Stark grew the patience to learn everything else.
And he wanted to cry.
His hands were shaking. They weren't supposed to do that. Was it because he was old? Angry? Frustrated? Did he not have it like he used to? All of these things were not options. Not allowed, not now, not yet. Please, not yet.
A guard interrupted Tony's work, and he let out a frustrated scream. T'Challa wanted to speak to Tony, privately. Tony kept rubbing his face. His chest burned slightly where his heart was. The ache of where his arc reactor used to be burned into his flesh.
"He can't kick me out," he whispered, "He just can't."
The big doors opened up to another lonely room. Elegant chairs were sat in a U-shape in the middle, connected by T'Challa's throne. The noble king sat upon it in familiarity, but the scene before Tony was less than well-met.
T'Challa looked tired, more tired than Tony had ever seen. It seemed to be a recurring theme these days. T'Challa scratched at the armrest idly, his face deep and depressed. His eyes hung ghostly sunken into their sockets, his friendly presence replaced by something more forlorn. The king was mourning.
"I have a great favor to ask of you," Tony watched closely, wondering what he could possibly give to a man who had ten times more of everything.
"Anything," Tony agreed, a long, tired breath leaving his aching lungs. T'Challa turned his gaze until he looked into Tony's soul.
"With my sister gone, someone needs to head up the science division." Tony nodded absentmindedly.
"Of course, I'll be happy to break the news to the lucky knew guy." He cringed slightly, wishing he hadn't chosen those exact words. T'Challa, however, made no comment on it. He just kept looking at Tony, something in his eyes that the billionaire just couldn't shake.
"There is a lot that needs to be done around here," he continued. Tony nodded again.
"And I am here to help, buddy, really, I am. But I need some time with the equipment. The adjustments that need to be made to the portal - we can't risk it breaking again. I know that you don't really have anyone over there -" Tony took a deep breath. But we need them back. It didn't matter if Carly was over there or not. The others were, and he couldn't help but to feel like some way, somehow, that was on him.
"I'll be more than happy to help with any funeral arrangements," Tony gave up and offered his service. If it was Carly instead of Shuri, would he really just let someone have free range of his lab while so much could be done to prepare for her eternal afterlife? He needed to be smart about this. T'Challa was his only chance to fix it. To fix it all. But T'Challa seemed to have other plans.
"Her funeral will not be tonight." There it was again, something in the man's eyes that set Tony off. Something wasn't right.
Tony cleared his throat, tapping his leg. "I don't really think that's healthy, but okay."
"I want you to be the new head of science."
His breath caught in his chest, his eyes widening as he stared wildly. "I'm sorry, did I just hear you correctly? It sounded like you wanted me - a man you hardly know, who is hardly qualified for this position in the first place - to run one of your country's most important economic responsibilities?" Tony frowned as T'Challa smiled. He shook his head.
"Your Majesty, I get greaf. I get that your head's not in the right place right now, and I know you'll regret this decision later. So I'm good, but thanks." Tony nodded his head politely and turned to walk away.
"My country needs you." Tony scoffed, turning around with a roll of his eyes.
"What your country needs right now is a king with his head in the game." Tony left the air silent for a few moments, and when he spoke again his voice was softer. "Shuri was just a child when she took on that responsibility, and look how much she benefited Wakanda. I think we both know another brilliant kid who deserves that same chance."
T'Challa's gaze wavered only then. He grew sadder, if that were possible, as he nodded his head in agreement.
"Yes," he mused, and Tony was glad to hear it. "But my son must focus on becoming King, and Black Panther. He cannot have his attention so divided."
"Are you hearing yourself?" Tony was bewildered. His tone was flat and angry. T'Challa had always been so reaponable, so noble, so kind. His priorities were always in the right place, and Tony had never found reason to doubt his decisions or actions. Even when his father died, when his country was overtaken, when he himself died by Thanos's doings. Throughout it all, he remained a true King.
"This conversation is over," Tony insisted, waving a hand in farewell. "Your son needs you to have faith in him. Let him have at the science division until you're ready to retire and then worry about all that other crap. I'll go tell him myself."
Tony almost made it to the door this time before T'Challa spoke again. There was an eerie silence as he reached for the exit, and then his attention was redirected and his face contorted in confusion.
"I wish to be buried with my sister, Mr. Stark." Tony turned, briefly, hand still stretched around his back for the door.
"Well, I'm sorry, but that's just not going to happen." The great king rubbed at his chin, sighing as he leaned back into his throne.
"You will lead all technological activities, Stark. Santo will become King and Black Panther, and you will both obey my orders because they will be my last as the ruler of this country." He twisted the ring around his finger, his eyes - Tony now realized were filled with desperation like he had never seen before - found his and held there for several seconds. "You will both do this, because I am dying."
Familiar chains scraped against his bones as he uncomfortably crouched against the wall. The chains might as well have been part of his body by that point; not metal against bone, but bone against bone.
The whole time his eyes never left his parents. But they weren't really his parents, where they? They were just Roman's incentive by now: poor, grey shells of people who had once known happiness and joy. All foreign concepts to Roman, of course, but he felt bad for them nonetheless.
Everything seemed to be a foreign concept to Roman these days. Confusion and anger called his soul home, and his heart had stopped beating for life long ago. His days were spent slowly, his only goal to somehow not make it to the next. But he kept disappointing himself as his eyes blinked open every morning, and he would once more become slave to the man's every unrighteous demand. He looked to Jack and Molly out of fear for their safety, but also out of longing and jealousy. Oh, what he would give to be as blank and grey as they…
The door opened, and Roman let his head lean back and hit the wall. Jack and Molly never made eye contact with him. They never would again, Roman knew, because their souls were gone, along with free-will and any trace of their previous lives. Roman doubted anyone would come looking for them; no one came looking for him. Even if they did, it had been twelve years and he would have given up after one. As far as anyone was concerned - as far as he was concerned - there was no coming back.
"I killed our little pest," the man said, arms folded behind his back as he paced with vigor before the throne. Roman closed his eyes.
"I have to say, this little outburst was surprisingly fun." Roman could hear the sick smile in his words, the twisted meaning and disgusting pride that he had for masacre. "Even so, I can't allow another flaw in the plan, Roman. I do hope you understand."
Roman swallowed. Fear could only last so long around a person so atrocious as that man, but Roman couldn't say he had exactly run out of it. Fear. It controlled him.
A soft hand grabbed at his face, bones prodding and digging into his cheeks as his eyes popped open in surprise, only to be met with those of his nightmare. Perhaps that was what scared Roman the most about this man; he never seemed to age. Over a decade, and his face never faltered, never turned old or grew a single imperfection. As Roman's skins filled with scars and regrets, the man's remained perfect in every way.
"I have been trying. For. So. Long, Roman." The man's eyes closed for a split second, and when they opened again they were filled with rage. "I have killed," a break for laughter, "so many people to get us both here, right now." A finger traced down his cheek.
"So don't ruin it for me!" His anger had always been childlike. He exuded such raw power and dominance that it was impressive, but his tantrums always ruined the show. It made it impossible for Roman to understand, but he had stopped trying to understand long ago.
God, why? Why is this happening? He would plead, looking up into the moon with his wide, innocent eyes. Back when he had innocence. Mommy says you want us to be good. That you punish those who did bad. What did I do that was so bad? Looking back, it took his a lot longer than preferable to realize that God wasn't real.
"I'm almost done with you, boy. I'm so close to my end goal. To salvation, and to divine superiority. When I am done, millions across all the worlds will flock to me in eternal gratitude. I will rule them the way they were meant to be ruled, they will all look up into the sky in praise of me." Then the man let out a sigh, clicking his tongue slowly as he stretched his neck. "We could have been done already, Roman. If only you had the girl. You still fail to understand your place in the universe, which is why I can forgive your utter betrayal - just this once." He stood up, walking away from Roman where he lay connected to the wall, his heart racing and his mind blank.
"You know where the girl is." The statement shocked him. He knew that the man could read minds, control them even, but this was such a blatantly stated fact that it seemed like something so much more. Because, yes, Roman knew exactly where Carly Stark was and it freaked him out. He didn't have an address, or even knew what it looked like, but there was this alien instinct pulling at his body, leading him to her. And more than that: he wanted to see her again.
"You will take me to her, Roman, so that I can ensure you not fail me again." Roman very much did not want this man to go with him. His shook his head very slightly, the fear gripping his body and turning his limbs to stone.
"No," he whispered, and the man before him gave out a roaring laugh.
"No?" He barked, a smile twisting its' way onto his face like a snake. "My dear, poor boy; you are in no position to be making demands!"
Roman managed to clear his throat. "Please," he begged, his eyes stinging, "I just have this feeling. I can do it this time. I can bring her back."
There was silence. With the man's back turned to Roman, he couldn't tell what was going on. And then there was a cutting sound, and the man's arm was raised with a blade in his hand and Jack was bleeding on the floor, his chest cut open in a long, thin line. Roman gasped, struggling against his chains in shock, reaching out to help the dying man before him.
The man put his arm down. "If you're not back by the time this man dies - with the girl - I will behead his wife."
Tony was back in Shuri's lab. His hands shifted through countless blueprints on the screen, his eyes scanning feverishly. Tony was a very needy man. He needed time, he needed to be smart, to be respected, to be a better father. He needed Pepper, and Rhodey, and Bruce, and even Steve. His list of needs never really ran out. And sure, things took their priorities on that list of needs, more often than not at the expense of his happiness, but he was always glad to do it because he felt like it was necessary. That's what it always came down to.
Was this necessary?
There were currently a few things that were very necessary: finding those damn blueprints, getting home safely to Carly, bringing everyone back. And then there was that whole conversation with T'Challa, and Tony's necessary response. He had told the king he would think about it, and then he practically flung himself back into all the other work he had yet to complete.
Tony was a changed man. Then again, Tony never really stopped changing, because Tony never really found his true self. First he was Howard Stark's genius son, then he was a weapon-making billionaire, self-turned hero, Iron Man - he spent a lot of time as that one, but like all things, it soon came to its' end. But then he just couldn't seem to put it down. People had come to need Tony, come to see his suit in the sky and be reminded of safety. Safety. That had been Tony's goal since the cave. Since he had witnessed firsthand the kind of destruction he had brought against countless innocent lives.
So he had shut down his weapon programs, but then his boss tried to kill him. But then someone wanted his suits and built an army. But then there was an alien invasion. But then there was a terrorist created by his own past demons. But then he created a murder robot when his purest intentions told him it would help. But then there was an assassin who split everyone apart, who brought old pains and caused new ones. But then there was a scared teenage boy he had recruited, who was in trouble way over his head. But then, but then, but then, but then; but then there was Thanos.
And Tony thought it would stop there. That was it. He had a family now, and he needed to be there for them. A family man - maybe that was who Tony really was. He had tried so hard, but he was an even bigger disappointment as a father than he was as a son. He did the job worse than Howard Stark, who wasn't even a terrible guy. But maybe Tony was.
Then it got worse than Thanos, because Tony became obsessed with Scarlet's safety, so he hid them all away and sold his house and bought a new one in the middle of nowhere. Pepper grew tired of dealing with his shit and left; not an official divorce, but close enough to it. And Carly...who was she? Tony had ruined her, just like Tony had ruined everything else. It was clear then, and it remained clear now; every time Tony tried to help, he created something so ugly that other people had to come clean up his mess.
And now he was in a dead princess's lab surrounded by equipment he didn't understand how to use, contemplating if he had the audacity to accept T'Challa's offer.
His hand swiped past more words in isiXhosa that he didn't understand, his eyes drooping as he slammed his hand into the table and the screen powered off.
"Dammit!" He barked, practically falling to his knees on the ground. He wiped at his face, groaning into his hand as he rested his back against a desk. He wasn't ready to admit defeat. He couldn't, not here, but he had no idea where to begin.
The quiet sounds of mourning once again filled his ears as he stared blankly at the wall. He didn't even realize before the none of the lights where turned on, or that the original, paper blueprints that he had brought laid sprawled out on the floor under the desk. Tony nodded, reaching for them and bringing himself back up.
"The old fashioned way, then," he mumbled, clearing the table with a sweep of his arm and replacing its' new emptiness with the plans. He had a brief, permitted moment of weakness. It wouldn't happen again.
His fingers tapped against his chin as he crossed his arms, gazing over the lines and scribbles. There was something new in the top corner of the sheet, something he just couldn't make out. He squinted, returning moments later with bright lights guiding his footsteps. When he looked again, he smiled.
"Huh. Son of a bitch." In small, scrawled, English handwriting, Shuri had given Tony new hope.
"Still can't figure it out? Push your hand into the middle of the drawing table."
Tony turned immediately, walking over to the tall table at the other side of the room, stopping just short of it as his hand hovered over the middle. He watched for a moment, hesitating, but then shrugged and pressed his hand down.
The monitors spat out the dead princess. Except she wasn't dead, and she was a pre-recorded message. Nonetheless, she was still annoying as hell. It made him smile.
"Hah, I knew you'd still need me!" She laughed at him like he was an old friend, and looked at him like she was alive. She sat at the edge of the table, her legs dangling over and swinging back and forth. It was good technology; her eyes followed Tony's movements and the coding in her features was impeccable - but she had stopped talking. She just sat there, looking at Tony like he was the biggest idiot alive.
"What, do you need vocal cue or something?" He asked, and she rolled her eyes.
"Well, obviously! Haven't you learned yet that our technology is far superior?" Tony let out and annoyed snort.
"Well that's all fine and dandy, but we've got a lot of work to do."
Shuri's head tilted, her dark hair falling over her shoulder in perfect braids. There was a smirk on her face, and life in her eyes like Tony hadn't seen in a long time. "Oh, do we?"
Tony nodded, grabbing the blueprints and holding them up to her, tapping the corner. "That's right, princess, we do. Now give me some help so I can get building." He placed them down on the table, watching as she got up to stand next to him, crossing her arms.
"What, because I'm a girl I can't help you build things? That seems a little rude, Mr. Stark."
"No, you can't help build things because you're programming in a computer. Now spill." Tony found himself enjoying the banter. With a lab partner - Shuri, Bruce, Pater - anyone who knew what they were doing, any stressful situation became manageable. Even if the answers weren't clear yet.
"Sure," she smiled at him, her face all too smug for any information Tony might have wanted to hear. "But first, tell me: how does it feel to know that I'm dead, and I'm still smarter than you?"
Carly was still standing by the window when the perimeter alarm went off. The thing was, she felt him coming. She felt a part of him inside her mind, her body, her very soul - as if they were combined in the most intimate way imaginable. It wasn't like a map, per say, but it was so much more than just a gut feeling. The closer he got, the more she wanted to see him.
She wasn't scared of him. She wasn't exactly calm, but she felt safe in the most uncanny way. Something about the way he felt was indescribably invigorating. She didn't fear his arrival - no, she was anxious for it. Some way, somehow, she anticipated it with her very soul. And that was what scared her.
Because he brought the darkness and the falling and the screaming and the chaos. He pushed her into her worst nightmare, and something inside of her couldn't wait for it to happen again. She didn't want to fall forever - was it forever?- she didn't want to figure that out, either. But the voice.
Oh, the voice.
Was it still about the voice?
Or was it something so much more than that?
She gulped; but she did not consciously entertain the idea of running away. She wouldn't be a coward, not this time. She wanted answers. She wanted this foreign feeling to go away. She wanted a face to that voice.
So when he took his first step onto the property and the alarms started to blare, Carly was right there to turn them off. Of course, as soon as the alarms went off a call would be sent to her father, so she pushed the speaker button and left him a message.
"I was just experimenting with stuff, no worries. Everything's cool here, see you whenever. No hurry."
"So this one goes up here?" Shuri nodded next to him, and Tony flashed her a thumbs-up. "Look at that, I'm getting the hang of it."
"You would not have to 'get the hang of it' if you did not break it in the first place," she commented, and Tony sat up from under all the wires, holding an exposed one in his hand.
"Hey now, I didn't do anything. I think you were starting to go a little crazy in your old age."
Shuri's amused gasp made Tony smile. "Just shut up and fix it," she commanded, leaving Tony to solute her and finish the wiring. It wasn't too different from Stark Technologies, in the main principles, but it still took him a bit to figure out.
"What's with the old fashioned tech, anyway?" He asked, grubling as a few sparks went off, "I thought you guys were above this."
"We are, Shuri answered as she crouched down beside him, pointing to the correct wire that he would need. "We train the children on this."
Tony glared at her as she held in her laughter. "Great," he muttered. His phone went off in his pocket, Friday soon after informing him that it was a false alarm due to Carly's usual antics.
"You're not going to answer her?" Shuri questioned, and Tony finished his work, using the desk to pull himself back up.
"Nope," he answered, flipping a few switches and swiping his hand over the tabletop. Like magic it flickered on, a proud feeling erupting in his chest. The lights flickered and dimmed as the doors locked, causing a frown to overcome Tony's strong features. He looked at Shuri as a screen popped up asking for a confirmation code.
"What's this?" He asked, and the screen disappeared.
"Voice of Tony Stark recognized, accessing locked files."
"Locked files?" He questioned, and Shuri's image shifted before resettling. "What is this?" Dozens of files began erupting through the room like a holographic explosion, each labeled a series of numbers that meant nothing to him. They weren't dates, or coordinates, none of them matched up to letters or words. It was a code like Tony had never seen before.
He reached out and touched one, the folder opening to dozens of scrawlings and papers with scratched out things. His eyes scanned it briefly, but nothing made sense. He glanced sideways at Shuri who stood idly by as he did his thing. He selected folder after folder until the room was an utter mess of blue projections and random writings, Tony's head filling with information that just needed the final link.
He stopped to read one page in particular, reading Shuri's familiar handwriting as it scrawled over itself and crossed things out. He turned to see her hologram standing right beside him, looking her own work over as if she wished to add something to it. Her eyes remained sad, her mouth silently working the equations like her mind would find something new this time.
"Shuri," Tony interrupted, "I don't want to ask again."
"My brother is dying." She was sad, showing almost as much computer-emotion as Vision. Tony nodded. Oh, so she had known.
"I had so many more things to do. So many ideas…" Tony watched her, seeing himself in her actions and regrets. Her eyes met his. "There yours now. All of them. I coded them so that no one else would understand, but don't worry, I put in a little cheat-sheet for you so you wouldn't be completely lost." With a little of her humor returning, Tony almost missed what she was getting at.
"You knew T'Challa would ask me to take your place," he guessed, his eyebrows coming together on his face. "Why?"
"Because I asked him to!" Her eyes rolled "I don't need some monkey brain messing up all my hard work!" She looked at Tony expectantly, but he was lost in his emotions.
"I'm processing," he retorted, rubbing his forehead stressfully.
"Well process over here," she snorted, drawing him to another folder with another bunch of numbers below it. "Open it."
Tony did as instructed, opening the file to bring out papers upon papers of the portal, and more. He shook his head, searching through them and spreading them out. What was this?
"When I designed the first one," she explained, "I put in sensors to survey what was beyond the drop point. They would pick up all lifeforms in the general vicinity, along with any threats or otherworldly activity."
Tony shook his head. "This can't be right." He grabbed another folder within the original's contents, opening it up to multiple graphs and wavelength measures. They suggested something very, very off from anything anyone could have guessed at.
"What does it look like?"
"I don't know."
Shuri looked like she wanted to hit him. "Yes you do. Look harder." Tony rubbed at his eyes, turning to her tiredly.
"Why me?" He demanded, throwing his arms up. "Huh? Why in the world would you ask for my help?"
"Because I couldn't figure it out." Her words shocked him into silence. He bellowed out an unbelieving laugh, but the princess didn't shift.
"I thought maybe if I had more time...if I wasn't so sick. I made a lot of excuses, because I don't like to admit when I'm stuck. And I'm stuck, Tony, but I know you can figure it out."
He huffed. "Well if you couldn't figure it out, I sure as hell can't." It was true. She knew the technology, she designed the equipment, the ideas, math, language - it was all in her head. Tony could learn it, maybe, but he'd never be better than her.
"Yes you can. They need you." He laughed, looking around at the holographic mess he had created. He'd maybe opened half a dozen filed.
"Everyone needs me." It was his mouth talking without his brain thinking. It was his sarcastic quips in a serious moment, his heart just trying to make light of a dark situation. He was surrounded by amazing things; things so pure and futuristic that even Wakanda itself seemed old fashioned, and Tony still didn't even understand a fraction of it. In the files in front of him laid talent in its' purest form.
"Yes, Mr. Stark, they do."
Silence filled the room. How anyone still believed that people needed Tony was beyond him. He created the messes that other people cleaned up. He was a self branded hero, made from his own mistakes. And he really never stopped making more, did he? His senses were overstimulated. He felt another panic attack coming on - God, really? He hadn't had one for a decade. His shaking arms tried to collect all the files, to put them back, but they were so spread out now that he had no idea what went where. He ended up just standing there, in the middle of it all, his eyes wide and his mind filled with ideas for the future. Because he had never really said no to T'Challa, and it was a yes in his heart from the first second and would be until the last.
"Well that's all for me." Shuri's voice physically surprised him. He jumped, watching as she made her way back over to the more advanced desk which she had sprung from, and her hand came up to wave him goodbye.
"What, no more programming?" Tony guessed it would happen eventually; no matter how good the coding was, there was always an end to it. He just never would have guessed that it would happen so soon. Not with someone so sharp as her, at least; he could have made programming to last years, maybe even decades.
She gave him a wide smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "It wasn't really on top of my things to do list."
"Of course it wasn't," he smiled to her in return, shaking his head teasingly. Maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised after all.
"Goodbye, Mr. Stark." Shuri pulled herself up until she was sitting on the edge of the table again, her legs swinging happily as she gave him one last smirk.
Tony look a moment to appreciate her. She was so young, so full of life and happiness. To be honest, she was barely an adult. Not a grey hair or wrinkle in sight - nothing but a bright future burned to ash by unfair consequences. Thinking about everything else she had to offer to her country made Tony's head burn and his heart ache. He gave her a small wave. "Yea, yea, thanks kid. See you around."
He had expected her to fade away then, having just said their goodbyes, so he turned back to the work at hand and spread out the filed once more, turning in circles to try and find the best place to start.
Shuri had been watching him, and while she wasn't capable of real emotion, she figured if her counterpart were still alive, she'd be proud.
"Just remember; don't try to continue my work. Make your own."
"What?" Tony turned in a hurry, only partly hearing what she had said. But it was too late, and Shuri really did fade this time, leaving Tony alone with the glowing blue pages and the murmurings of his mind.
What does it look like?
The question bounced around in his head for minutes as he read, trying to make out her scrawled handwriting as she bounced between English (probably for his benefit) and her native language. His heart swelled just thinking about it: how many pages she had to translate just so he could dip his toes in her work. He was growing giddy now, that familiar excitement about the future growing in his chest.
But that's when he opened a new folder and more graphs came spilling out. He wished he never opened it. He wished he could have relished in his childish excitement for just a few more seconds.
What does it look like? His words came out in a whisper.
"An invasion."
The next thing Carly heard was the knock at the door. It was hesitant and light, almost inaudible to her ears. She opened it carefully, coming face to face with Roman as he stared at her with his wild green eyes.
"You need to go back."
He reached out to her and she stepped away, leading him into the house. Her pulse quickened, her legs kicking things over as she slowly evaded him. Now that this was actually happening, now that Roman was right in front of here and she was guaranteed to fall again, the fear set in. She needed time, and she only knew one way to get it.
"I know," she said calmly, and Roman stopped. Carly needed to prepare for her fate. Having had multiple opportunities to avoid this very thing, she knew there was no going back now. She also knew that she was crazy for thinking the way she was, but she couldn't help to think that some destiny bullshit she didn't believe in was guiding her course.
"You - what?" Roman's hand fell limp to his sides, but Carly could see that he remained on edge. There was just something about him, something very animalistic. His scarred flesh shifted on his face with every word spoken, his ardent green eyes remained twitchy and shifted around the room in worry. He didn't slouch or walk with a hunch, which left his small clothes hanging several inches from his wrists and ankles. In the dark his hair had looked brown, but the sun allowed Carly to see the hues of ginger within his soft curls.
"I'll go with you," she said, "willingly. All you have to do is answer some questions."
Roman bit his lip. "I don't think he'd like that," he decided, apologies evident in every inch of his being.
Carly rose an eyebrow. "You don't think he'd like that?" She repeated, sliding down the hall more when Roman realized his mistake. "Who's 'he'?"
"No one," Roman panicked, lunging at her and knocking her to the ground. She let out a surprised gasp of air, her head hitting the floor and blurring her vision.
"I'm sorry," Roman was whispering tears sprouting in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. But you have to. You have to go back."
There was green invading Carly's vision again, and she struggled under his surprisingly strong grip as tears stung her own eyes. She wasn't ready, not yet. A whimper left her mouth, and she licked her dry lips.
"And I will," she pleaded, thrashing again as she tried to keep her gaze set on the hole opening up beside her. "But please, not yet. Please." Her final whispered plead seemed to crack his entire spirit, his shoulders sagging sadly and his morals grabbing the best of him. His grib released slightly, but he remained on top of her, pinning her uncomfortably into the floor.
"You have to," he warned sadly, and Carly managed a tiny nod.
"I promise."
He shook his head with a small laugh, but it wasn't rude or sarcastic. Carly felt a wave of pity for the man above her, her mind growing more confused with every second. So he was a reluctant abductor?
"Your words don't mean anything to me." Carly gasped for a breath and his eyes widened, his body straining to pull his weight off of her.
"Sorry," he said, holding out his hand to help her up. "You just have to come. There's no other way."
Carly took his hand, her other one coming up to massage her forehead. Fresh air filled her chest and she let out a cough, leaning against the wall gratefully.
"Are you okay?" He asked, reaching a hand out to her, but pulling back before she could flich it away. She looked at him wildly.
"You're really bad at this whole bad guy thing, you know that?" His face twitched into a small, sad little smile. She concentrated on what the hell to do next.
"I'm not exactly doing this willingly," he admitted sheepishly, and Carly snorted.
"I figured. So who's the guy?" Roman shrugged.
"No idea."
Carly scratched her head and smoothed down her hair. "Great, great." They both stopped talking, Carly becoming entranced in his otherworldly gaze. He refused to look away or blink, and Carly would have said he looked intimidating if he didn't look like an oversized child in those horrendous clothes.
"I could feel you coming." It was weird to admit it out loud. Like a secret being spoken for the first time. She felt embarrassed, but Roman didn't seem to mind.
"I figured," he said with a shrug, "I felt you to." Which is how he knew where to find me. To be fair, it made a lot of sense.
"This is crazy."
Roman nodded, and the no-speaking rule seemed to return. They both stood there, awkwardly, staring at each other and waiting for someone to do something. Carly wondered, only briefly, if she should tell him about the voice she heard. Maybe he would know who it was, or what was happening. But then again, the guy didn't seem to know much about anything. Maybe telling him something she didn't quite understand herself would turn out to be a mistake.
Stop trusting him, Carly. You don't even know him. Plus, he's trying to kidnap you. And you're letting him.
"So this guy who's making you do this: he give you those scars?" Roman nodded, his hand ghosting up over his face as his eyes hardened.
Why don't you run away? His answer was probably the same as her's. Why didn't she run away? Because she had a reason to stay. So that wasn't what she asked - Carly asked a lot a stupid stuff, but that would have been a new low.
"Where are we going?" She tried that stupid one instead, offering a polite, innocent smile as a free add-on. Roman seemed to orientate himself then, his ghostly smile evaporating from his face and his aura returning to its dark feel.
"Good try," he complimented her. "Ready?" Carly shook her head, a stray tear escaping her eye as she wiped it away.
"Hold up," she breathed, walking over the the kitchen to grab a napkin. She felt Roman watch her every move as she grabbed a pen and scribbled a note for her father. When she finished she stared at it for a moment, closing her eyes and mentally sending him an apology. Looks like I've got one last disappointment for ya', pops.
She stood before Roman, clothed but feeling more naked than she had in her life. He seemed to share her sorrows, however, as he offered her another apology.
"What's his goal?" Carly decided that should be her final question. Might as well make it a good one.
Roman's eyes sparked green and Carly felt a sudden emptiness behind her. She wanted to close her eyes, to mentally prepare herself for an uncountable number of minutes screaming, to do anything, really, than just stare at him. But she couldn't avert her gaze, even as his hands landed on her shoulders, and she was falling backwards, through her world and into darkness.
"He said something about being home again? I think he wants you to look for a house on a street named Asgard. He said the sidewalks themselves are made of gold."
The humble prince of Asgard couldn't stop crying. He cried harder knowing he couldn't remember the last time he had cried - for as far back as his memories allowed him to travel - he had always held his emotions in. When great queen Ororo, his beloved mother, had died, Santo spent weeks grieving by himself at night, but he hadn't shed a single tear.
Even now, with his aunt dead and decaying in the next room over, he didn't cry for her. It wasn't because he hadn't loved them, or that he wasn't in touch with his emotions. It was quite the opposite, in fact. Santo held so much love and respect for those two women that it hurt. Shuri especially had been one of his greatest role models, always there to guide him and provide a little spunk to his life.
His mother, well he hadn't known her well at all. He remembered kind smiles, and spending weeks here and there in her care. But she chose not to live in Wakanda, and it was always deemed too dangerous for Santo to leave the country for any extended period of time. It was never explained why, but Santo lived a good life either way. He knew he was loved unconditionally by both parents and that there were never any hard feelings. He also knew that their marriage was only ended by her death, and T'Challa hadn't cried either. He had since told Santo that it was because she had every chance to live, but chose not to. Santo had no idea what that meant, but respected the private thoughts of his father.
Santo always mourned after sunset. He didn't know why, but it had become a rather gloomy tradition. He would find a large window and lean against it, watching the sun set as his mind would wander to thoughts of the lost and wishes of their return.
He cried not for his father. He thought crying for the dead was disrespectful. Someone cried for themselves, mostly, because they would miss someone, or they were hurt, or they needed something that they didn't currently have. Santo thought it was only okay to cry for someone else; to mourn what they had lost through death, not what he had.
But he would miss his father terribly. And his tears were the most selfish thing he possessed. Shuri had died earlier today, but only hours before was Santo called to the throne room, confronted by his father, and delivered the news of the sickness. It was the same one Shuri had died from; the same one that their medics had never seen before, and had no idea where to start on a cure.
The responsibilities of becoming king and Black Panther fell on ignorant shoulders. Egotistical or not, Santo knew he had been ready for those titles long ago. He knew he was loved by his country, and they would support him and love them with all of their hearts. He feared not the outside world which he had never seen before, and was prepared to ignore their judgment of his young age. Nineteen or not, Santo had trained for his entire life. And he would not let his father - or anyone else - down.
The tears continued to stream down his face, aided further by the solem awareness that Santo was now truly alone. The moment that his father passed away, Santo would be an orphan of his country. No grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents, cousins or siblings - just Santo Ororo and his lonely reign as king.
Carly was back to screaming again. It seemed to much worse than she remembered the second time around. What she thought she had been ready for turned out to become a disadvantage, her mind racing with broken strands of her prepared plan; her body resorting to flailing its' limbs wildly and tumbling over itself in uncomfortable positions
She didn't want to waste the opportunity again. She reached out, straining her arms so badly that she felt them pop, and then she screamed for an all new reason. They didn't seem to be broken, but Carly wasn't used to the physical strain of moving while falling.
The hardest part was the fact that Carly had no idea what she was looking for. Everything was familiar in just the way she didn't want. It was scary - terrifying even. The darkness surrounded her, teasing her vision with the hope of light, but it was never to be found. No matter what way she tumbled, she never entered the dark; she was always just encased by it.
Carly was a very determined person. When she decided that she wanted something, there was no stopping her. And Carly wanted to find that voice again. When she finally got herself to stop screaming her breaths became ragged gasps, her hair blowing into her face so hard that it hurt. The wind being produced by - still unknown- seemed almost chilly this time, freezing her skin the harder she strained.
"Hello?" She called, her voice shaking as the wind carried it around her body, but never outward. Tears that never fell flooded her eyes, blurring her vision.
"Hello?" She tried again, this time louder. The same thing seemed to happen; the wind like a cruel life force that refused to allow her voice through.
"Please, I know you're there!" She screamed words faster and louder than she had the air for. With each plead that was left unanswered she grew more and more frightened until she wished with every bone in her body that she fought Roman tooth and claw and killed him, just so that she wouldn't have to fall a second longer.
It lasted so long that she almost convinced herself she imagined the voice altogether. Of course it seemed familiar. Of course there was a voice - it was hers. She had probably misheard her own scream for help the first time. Her mind had crafted some other person wither her in the darkness so that she didn't feel so alone. She stopped screaming. She stopped screaming and just started falling, her fingers icy and her hope gone.
And when the voice came, it was filled with so much hope and comfort that it hurt.
"Are you done falling yet?"