Dr. Darcy Lewis was a piece of work. She had permanently red lips ("I keep this lipstick on me at all times otherwise I look like an albino peacock"), thick glasses ("I like people assuming I'm smart until I open my mouth and then they realize I have a doctorate in astrophysics), and gorgeous blue eyes. Shuri remembered her vaguely from her first visit before Val imposed a strict "don't talk to the Potential Enemy-Potential Ally" rule, and whatever power the CIA Director seemed to work on even someone as talkative as Darcy. Thankfully, the promise to bring corn the next visit and over a dozen pair of eyes shooting daggers at Val so that she give up the identity of the scientist who had experience with magic, forced her to revoke that rule. At least for a few minutes.

Shuri crouched in front of Darcy, aware of a guard lingering in the background. She hadn't reclaimed her free-to-wander privileges yet, and though Namor was in the dark for now, if this was indeed the scientist Ross mentioned, then she would have to tell him. She couldn't bring another human to her lab without a fit the size of Talokan itself.

Darcy, for her part, looked all too eager to oblige.

"I would've loved to talk to you earlier but she threatened to fire me. Normally I'm not a buttkisser, but gotta tell ya, job market's been rough for the non-royalty. Academia sucks and no one wants to do magic research after East Coast cities keep blowing up." The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. "Huge fan, by the way. Love the fashion, love the vibe, the saving the planet thing. Pretty well-acquainted with that. My friend was Thor's girlfriend, actually —"

She straightened. "You knew Dr. Jane Foster? The Einstein-Rosen Bridge?"

"Oh yeah, she even traveled to Asgard. Before it fell to a blazing fire."

Shuri nodded thoughtfully. "I read about it in her book. So you worked with an infinity stone—"

"Dr. Lewis, you are under strict orders—" A nasally voice pierced their conversation but her eyes widened as Darcy nodded.

"Oh yeah. It sort of swallowed up Jane at one point."

She lowered her voice, not wanting the others to hear. Hopefully, Darcy was the kind of person willing to work for peace or could at least be swayed into secrets by the promises of finer scientific endeavors. Dealing with Namor was manageable after a night's worth of rest but Nakia was right to imply she was in need of help. She couldn't recreate a sacred, ancient flower and track Vision down in nine—now closer to eight—days.

"You have experience with other magic too, right?"

"Mhm. Curses, hexes, got stuck in a circus once. I'm starting to think I should write my own book—"

"Enough, Dr. Lewis!"

"Val, please take a nap."

A choking noise. "You're fired."

"The prissy head of an intelligence agency versus a child prodigy with good hair sense?" Darcy pursed her lips, addressing Shuri. "Your royal majesty, highness, excellence, I'll help. Get me a Wakandan fellowship though."

Shuri decided she liked her, very, very much.

"A Queen does not escape either," he told her. In her dream tonight, she wore a gown with cloth that flowed for miles, a necklace of jade, and a curious taste of salt in her mouth.

Namor was stroking his almost-restored wing when a guard entered his water office. It was smaller than the one he had in air, but it was in the heart of the palace and conveniently close enough to Tozi, who's daily duties often required his attention.

After two months of left-side-heavy swimming, it was a blessing to return to balanced feet. The last time his wings were injured was after a nasty stray shark bit into him seventy years ago and nicked an inch off his left wing. Despite Talokanil healing and prayers to Chac, it took over a year to heal. Whispers of old Greek mythologies often wandered Talokan, and if Namor were to name a physical weakness, it would be a sort of feathered version of an Achilles' heel.

"She visited the Americans last night, K'uk'ulkan."

He straightened, testing his wings with a flutter. He swam downwards with controlled speed, and the guard smiled with awe lacing his voice.

"It has healed?"

"With the help of the Princess." Namor reached for his staff. "What is this about her visiting the cave?"

"She came to the cave last night by herself. I could not understand their language fully but she talked to a different American than usual. I apologize, I did not know protocol for her visits had changed."

Namor's eyes narrowed dangerously. Were her forceful instructions to get rest and jests to not escape a ruse? Bile rose in his throat as his arms clenched. Had his trust of her judgment and sincerity clouded his judgment of their precarious position?

It was almost morning and it was time to visit her regardless. With a stiff nod to the guard, Namor zipped through the city. His people laughed and waved as he pulled his arms out, letting the whirlpool suck him in and deposit him at the feet of—a Princess.

Shuri stepped out of the cabin in a white dress but she must have spent more time preparing herself than usual, or she had rested remarkably well, because her eyes were dazzling in the glow of the catacombs. The flowing sleeves revealed arms that he had no scruples about their ability to choke him despite their wiry form, the very arms his had lips traced. The shadows between her collarbone and neck left him panting with want; the belt at her waist cinched her athletic frame; and the flowing bodice that danced with her every step exposed legs he had seen in detail but had yet been given the permission to touch. The jade stones of her dress were honored to sit on her skin.

Every day was testing his discipline in ways they hadn't since he burned down a Spanish village. He could wait. He had to. But surface-dwelling men lesser than him had taken wives better than them throughout history. He wondered if he had played the political game wrong all this time. Perhaps Talokan was not above Wakanda in arranging the courtships she briefly so ceremoniously assumed of him.

No. If and when he had her, it would be because she was so taken that there was no choice but towards him. Chac and the gods robbed him of his choice and laid him broken at her feet. He would do the same of her.

"Good, looks like the wing is back." Shuri smiled. His anger simmered, but he bit the inside of his cheek. "Namor—"

"Do not call me by that vile name," he interrupted. "I was informed—"

"I went to the Americans—" She stopped. He watched a curious set of emotions conflict on her face. "Am I not your enemy?"

Did she still think that, after all his hard work and their alliance?

"Make your conclusion, Shuri. Talokan will prepare for war if Wakanda—"

"Stop doing that." She hissed. "You're water, but you behave like fire. Escalating for no reason in the guise of protecting your people. Can we stop going in circles? I went to the Americans last night because I had an idea for creating the blue flower. I have a potential sequence mapped out, but I don't have a printer built yet, and I need help from an American scientist familiar with the technology since I'm using their submarine parts. I should have told you earlier but was going to tell you when you were available today."

Namor didn't understand half of what she said but he didn't need to. Sincerity was written all over her, contorting her face into an expression he'd rather not see. She should never apologize or thank him. Those were feelings he would not accept from her.

She was…exposing her weaknesses to him, and it was a responsibility he didn't tread lightly.

"I have no need—"

She interrupted him. She did that quite often, lately, and it didn't bother him.

"For my apology. I offer it to you anyway."

"I trust your judgment." He affirmed, but his lips thinned. "I will not allow humans to desecrate Talokan."

"I'm human," she pointed out, in that impudent and wonderful way of hers.

Yes, but you are Shuri of Wakanda, the Black Panther to the Feathered Serpent God.

Shuri decided not to push the topic further, considering it lucky that Nakia had made it out alive and detected. Namor had superhuman senses along with godly-strength but super hearing didn't extend to air if it was that simple. The other option was that Nakia was a really good spy (she was). Last time, they escaped with little fuss (except for the two dead Talokanil they left behind, her brain reminded her).

Instead, she bartered for more visits with the Americans. If Darcy couldn't join her, then she'd figure out a way to get her input on the Vision-finder. Keeping it a secret from Val was another issue.

You lied to him. Her mind whispered traitorously.

Technically I didn't.

Namor motioned for her to remove her suit as they entered the ancestor room. Wearing a dress was unsurprisingly uncomfortable in the less roomy watersuit than the exosuit. Her dress was hopelessly wrinkled. She struggled to smooth it down, brushing it down with her hands as far as they could reach. When she noticed Namor watching her movements with a keen interest, she stopped. He had the audacity to move on as if he hadn't been ogling her legs.

Heat rushed to her face.

She knew she was a beautiful woman, not as curvaceous as Nakia or tall as Okoye, but still pleasing to look at, as signaled by the lingering glances of American boys during visits to the Wakandan Outreach Center. Wakandan men were less conspicuous especially in the presence of royalty. But Namor would never let something slip from his face that he didn't want to. Which meant it was purposeful, which meant he wanted her to know, and now she knew about her legs in his eyes and his stupid request to wear this lovely dress.

Bast. I'm no pining fool.

He shuffled to stand in front of a large statue, putting the garden behind him. The ceremonial cloak he wore covered most of his upper body, for which she was thankful for, because she couldn't exactly pray while boring holes into his back.

Ahem. Had it been that long since...

"Come." Namor gestured to his left. "Join me. This is Yopaat, our god of storm. He used his weapon to crack the shell of a turtle, and from it came maize, or corn, as Englishmen call it. This is why corn is one of the only surface-foods that we eat. It is originally of water."

Shuri said nothing, only looking at the statue ahead of them with bright eyes. The statue had a large head and a progressively large headpiece of carvings until it reached the ceiling. Namor began to chant a hymn, one her Kimoyo bead translator could not follow, so she closed her eyes and let herself get lost in his low, rhythmic murmurs.

When he finished, she opened her eyes to turn towards him.

"Why did you bring me here?"

He turned to her. "So you can learn more about my ancestors, and now you can speak of them. Tell me something about yours."

She remembered chastising him and felt almost embarrassed now. Here he was, standing earnestly in front of his ancestors with likely the only human who would ever step foot here. It was more than a favor of an ingratiating sort; it was a sincere compliment.

"Okay," she agreed. She told him about Bashenga, the first king of Wakanda, the Great Mound, her lineage of panthers. That the Black Panther need not always be the ruler, but the mantle was a noble one that fewer than those qualified to reign as a ruler were eligible for. "We always thought we were the only nation with vibranium, and our tribes warred over it. Bashenga united us."

Namor nodded as though he knew all this. Perhaps he did through snooping Talokanil scoping out a potential enemy. Hadn't even his mother mentioned Wakanda to him? "The shaman who had the vision and gave us the flower told us Chac also gave him visions of Wakanda. A land so secretive and closed off. I endeavored to make my people prosper like your people in these stories."

She lurched, surprised.

"When I visited the surface world for a regular visit to collection information, and I learned of what your brother did, it was difficult to believe. For centuries we prayed for a return to land, no longer hiding who we were."

Remembering the cold conclusion of the conversation about her brother's choices the day prior, Shuri quickly thought through ways to change the subject. She would not speak of T'Challa to him, for now, but maybe…

"I told you yesterday that I have visited the ancestral plane. But the person I saw used to be an enemy."

"I see." He resumed his reverent stance in front of the statue. "The ancestors come with what we need and often what we do not realize we need. This enemy of yours could have given you more than others could, at that time."

"But I don't understand it," she started, "I needed my family, and this—this person is the reason my brother is dead. He burned our garden and our herbs that could have saved his life. And I—" she heaved, realizing who she was speaking to. She wanted to stop before more of her heart fell out of her chest, the parts remaining after being buried with her mo—

Namor yanked her into his arms. Her face hit the soft knit of his white and gold cloak, one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other flared over the middle of her back, his palm pressing into the cool fabric of her dress.

"I grieve my mother every day," he said into her hair.

Then you know what you did to me when you took mine from me. She wanted to shout at him. She wanted him to be consumed by grief that it squeezed sobs out of him at random moments, just before the stitches on his heart began to heal, never to grant him relief.

"I know," he rasped. "I know."

It was not an apology. It was an offering of his pain, and there was nothing she wanted to say to that.

They stood in silence, her curled up in him and him curled around her, her neurons firing with the beat of his godly heart, until one of her guards entered the room with a message from Totl asking how to turn off the sequencing machine.

The day proceeded with little else. A preliminary map of the blue flower was done. The papers and bead remained in her pocket, her mind just beginning to froth in anxiety.

Totl waved a hand in front of her. "Did you hear what I said?" He coughed and pounded on his chest.

"Sorry, no," she rubbed her eyes. It was past dinner time, and she was still running on the dregs of her breakfast.

He smiled softly. "Juana sends her greetings. She wanted to visit you, but she is strictly confined to her home."

Shuri's heart leapt. Juana was a permanent fixture in her nightly prayers.

"Tell her she needs plenty of rest, because she can't be Talokan's best engineer otherwise."

He grinned, and she grinned with him, because family was few but she had friends everywhere.

That night, she asked a guard to send a message to ask Namor if she could join him again for his prayers. The next day, she met him directly in the room of the ancestors, this time adorned in her (wrinkly) jade dress and tight curls pulled back in a tight bun. He smiled upon seeing her but it quickly turned into a frown as she advanced towards him. He dug his fingers into her hair and undid ten minutes of hard work.

"Leave your hair as is."

"Talokanil women wear it this way," she said, sending a stray curl up with a huff.

"As I once mentioned to you, though you were rather occupied at the time, they wear it with a headpiece, or at least a shell."

She shoved him, causing him to stumble. "Then bring me a shell, unoccupied one."

Something flashed in his eyes. She suppressed a snicker, and he chortled, straining to return to his stiff position in front of the statue of Yopaat.

"You're better when you laugh," she muttered, joining her hands in front of her and lifting her eyes to Yopaat's decorated visage.

"There is little to laugh about." He responded, almost playfully.

"Your people laugh."

"As long as they remain protected."

His last words began to veer into sensitive territory again, and Shuri was in no mood to, as she said, go in circles. So she tried to focus on the statue in front of her, the hymns rumbling in Namor's chest, and the aroma of the flowers behind her. When they finished, she swerved their post-meditation banter towards her request. There were less than seven days left and she couldn't take advantage of all those days because it would take time for the others to actually find Vision, no less drag him to the council and figure out what condition he was in before presenting him to the Americans.

She hoped Vision wouldn't become just a bartering tool. The goal was to absolve Wakanda of whatever contrived conspiracies the foreigners accused them of but after she returned she would help fix him. Bucky had hope in her, and she would prove that hope well-placed.

"Do you trust my judgment?"

He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"Again with the answering questions with a question."

"When they are ridiculous ones."

She fluffed her dress, internally beaming when he followed the movement with his eyes. "Please…trust me on this. I can't divulge every detail and most details are of the scientific sort, but I need help from the Americans. Just one American. She is on our side and she won't compromise us."

Namor's face darkened. Her hope wilted; she would have to become a gamma ray expert within a few days without the help of any outside sources. She almost resigned herself to her fate when she heard him click his tongue.

"I cannot wager the safety of my people on the word of a wretched surface-dweller."

"Have you even spoken to these people?"

His face contorted into one of disgust. "The ocean will dry before that I ever do that."

"I hate what they stand for, too. You're not the only victim here." Shuri closed her eyes, mulling over her next words before she forced them out. "Making the flower will be next to impossible without her help." It was a half-truth, but her father often reminded her that the most dangerous lies were truths slightly distorted. Silence stretched out between them.

"One meeting a day," he finally acquiesced, "ten minutes unsupervised, but a guard must remain in the area. Nothing more."

Her eyes flew open as her feet lurched forward before her mind could stop them. She collided with him in a tight embrace. He looked flabbergasted for a blinking moment, then wound his arms tightly around her and sunk his face into her hair, holding her in this little space he shared with her.

Shuri asked the guards for four bowls of corn for lunch instead of whatever variation of kelp the Talokanil chefs had prepared. The Americans passed them around like they were bottles of beer, whooping and holding it up with reverent hands.

"You spill my portion and I'm stealing yours," Darcy sniped at Rick. The young man was too busy cheering with the others. "Anyway, you find a way to get me out of here?"

"Unfortunately, no." Shuri beckoned her up and strolled towards the exit. The others watched with curious eyes and Val scrambled up to stand. "I'm taking Dr. Lewis right outside to have a private conversation with her. She will be back shortly."

There was a ripple of annoyance among the other occupants. Val looked like she was going to burst a vein. As the pair strode through the rock-slide door, Darcy watched the guards with a calculated look.

"Have they told you much?" She led her towards the small lake, putting as much distance between them and the guards. One of them leveled a spear at them.

"No," the American sighed. "We've seen a couple of them around, some of them know English and ask us if we need anything, but overall it's so weird. An underwater city? Wasn't Atlantis a cartoon?"

"They're descents of a people who were hunted for a long time."

Darcy nodded sagely. "I'd love to ask you more but guessing you're running low on time."

She peeled off enough of her watersuit to expose the pockets of her tracksuit. She fished the papers out, her back turned to the guards, and Darcy's eyes widened to saucers when she explained the global manhunt former Avengers and Wakandans were leading to find the synthezoid.

Darcy quickly explained what she knew: Wanda's domestic fantasy in Westview, a figment of Vision arising from it, and a combination of S.W.O.R.D technology and magic leading to a real Vision, who gained the memories of Wanda's imagination of Vision. The two Visions were the same, but not, and White Vision was made more out of vibranium than the first one and only possessed traces of an infinity stone in his forehead. It was all very complicated and involved some references to 70s shows, but eventually Darcy arrived at her point when there were only three minutes left.

The woman left her with enough instructions on broadcast frequency and tuning it to his energy signature, which Shuri had knowledge of, but she shook her head at the idea. "It won't work down here. Signals don't go through."

"I've never had vibranium to work with, but I'm sure you can put together something."

That something ended up burning her hand.

While Totl had been sent away on a mission to find wood for a polymer-wood composite that a 3D printer needed ("Vibranium does infinite things, but not everything." "What? That's impossible." "Vibranium doesn't do lots of things, Totl. Have you tried eating it?" "No..."), Shuri worked surreptitiously on a machine that could be attuned to the signatures on the papers. There were two: one a combination of vibranium and gamma rays, the same ones from her brain scan of the original Vision, and a weird red pulsing energy more for wizard types to deal with.

She didn't expect the Vision-finder to work on the first day, obviously, but she had at least expected it to start detecting something. Instead, one of the gears—sourced from the pile of submarine parts she had yet to fully sift through—couldn't hold the weight of the vibranium and the machine promptly melted in her hands, her watersuit with it. No water pierced through, though, sparing her lungs, and she suspected in air the incident could have been an explosion comparable to the first one, though it still caused the fibers of her suit to become gooey and burn the flesh beneath it.

She left Totl a note, a stone with the word "break" carved into it (there were others the engineers used like "rest", "food", and "seaweed break") left near the sequencing machine, and rushed to the catacombs. Her trusty watersuit maintained its integrity but the second-degree burns littered across her right hand tested her patience. Less than the pain, it was the sign of incompetence that irritated her. You're doing science underwater, she assured herself. New conditions, unforeseen consequences.

One of the guards watched her step out of the watersuit with rising alarm and sent the other into the water before Shuri could protest. "K'uk'ulkan will be upset to see you like this."

"Which is why you didn't have to tell him. He has plenty other to focus on." She poked at one of the blisters.

As much as she wanted to see him, having less to explain was appealing. If Namor thought she wasn't the all-knowing genius scientist Okoye promised him, or that her work posed another danger to others, then the plan could be suspended. She didn't like failure. She also didn't want Namor to witness it.

The man flew out of the lake not five minutes later, making good use of his foot wings. His supple body arched into the air and landed to her right, tossing his staff aside to snatch her hand and interrupt her careful work with the Kimoyo beads.

"Be—ow!" She winced, "Panther or no, burns hurt."

He observed her hand, flipping it over and back like it was a page of book. Then he leaned closer to blow on it. The cool air soothed the blisters.

"The Black Panther was bested by a machine? That belittles me."

She pointed to his cabin with her good hand. "I'm not the one who memorialized someone beating my ass by painting a mural of it for everyone to see."

"It is our history. Had anyone else had the luxury of making me yield, they would be memorialized as well, perhaps in less detail." He hummed. "Fen is on her way."

Shuri saddened at the mention of the woman. She hadn't seen the healer for days, and there was no reason to, now.

"Don't bother her. My Kimoyo beads are enough."

"I assumed you both were friends." He looked at her thoughtfully. She tugged her hand out of his and resumed healing it with a bead.

"Yes. I don't want to speak ill of her, only that I don't know what I did, and she has plenty to be angry for on the behalf of Juana as a healer."

The bead did its job, cooling the blisters and drying them at rapid speed, but she bit her lip and hesitated. It had been a few hours since he held her, right?

Decision made, she extended her hand again, jutting her chin out and averting her eyes. She heard the smirk in Namor's voice rather than saw it.

"It takes an injury to pull your mind from your technology." He placed her hand in his, gently this time, and curled his thumb around the edge. A chill rose up her spine as she felt him methodically make his way over her fingers and the back of her hand, sending occasional bursts of cool air over her skin. When he was done, he moved his thumb over her fingers to push them to curl into his. He stood, hauling her up with him and walked towards the cabin. He stopped only to retrieve his staff, Shuri careful to glance at anything but him.

When they were in her room, still joined at the hands, she finally looked at him. She didn't want to pull away but her arm was itching and she needed to change. "The guards are going to get weird ideas."

"What ideas?" he asked, deceptively casual.

She tugged her hand out of his for a second time that evening. A part of her moped at the immediate flow of air across her fingers. "Don't be coy."

When he didn't move, she sighed and left her tracksuit on before slipping into bed. Why aren't you leaving?, she wanted to ask him, but then he would either be forced to answer or leave. She didn't want either. An answer would require a response. Leaving would leave her.

So she watched him observe the different artifacts hanging on the walls around the room, touching some of them and muttering a prayer, and straightening the others. He looked lost in thought, almost ignorant to the fact that she was there and about to sleep, but he was no longer an enemy. They meditated in the mornings together, traded offhand anecdotes of their previous lives—Namor before her, her before the Snap—and he had come here, all this way, to see an injury that failed to reach her top ten list of most lethal attacks. He himself had stabbed her; he knew what a serious injury on her looked like.

He was not an enemy. If he was, then he was the sort that gave her what she needed even before she knew it herself. She had clawed his back. In return, he was beginning to claw into her heart and force a permanent resident for himself, this insufferable Feathered Serpent Water King God with silly foot wings and dark eyes who took on the name of the unloved.

"Thank you," she mumbled, cradling her hand as she fell asleep to his soft footsteps.

There was a tulip shell on her bed when she woke up, placed atop the pile of seaweed (said pile looked suspiciously shorter). She spent twenty minutes getting ready this time, leaving her curls out but pushing the sharp end of the shell into it.