thirty-seven

*•.*

"THIS DOES NOT HAVE to be hard," a quiet voice promised. Secretary Ross didn't seem to believe the words himself, but he did seem to be trying impossibly hard to look like he did. "We could make all of this go away if you cooperate."

"Damn it, Ross," she rasped, "can't a girl get off of her deathbed before you start interrogating her?"

Geneva Blake was tired still and in pain for a myriad of reasons. Her throat burned constantly, and her wounds ached. She was also alone and handcuffed to a hospital bed like a criminal. She'd spent nine weeks in a coma and had been conscious for nearly two now. She was lucky to be alive and breathing, and she was even luckier to be awake.

"You're no longer on the verge of dying," the man said, forgoing his attempts at gentleness. His lip curled agitatedly under is thick mustache. "Help us find Captain Rogers, or you will end up in a prison with the rest of his accomplices."

Had laughing not been a catalyst for more pain she would've done it right in his face. She settled for a scoff. "I want a lawyer."

"We're way past that Ms. Blake," he commented. "You're wanted in 117 countries. Your circumstances are different. You're lucky that other governments aren't calling for your head."

"Lucky is not quite the word I would use." She regarded him with a frown, and took another sip of her water, the liquid soothing the soreness of her throat. She spoke again, her voice not as strong as she would like it to be, but it was all she had to give. "Why the hell would I put my faith in a government that does not give a damn about me? A government that won't even allow me my rights. A government that would kill Steve Rogers like some common criminal and expect me to help them do it. Have some sense of reality."

His expression tightened. "Enlighten me of this... reality then."

"No," she said simply. She would save her breath. They'd been numbered for far too long. "I'm done, Ross. If you want to send me to prison, do it. I won't talk about Steve Rogers to you or anyone else. If you do find him, though, by all means, send him my well wishes."

The man's face was turning a deep shade of red. "You won't get another chance like this, and I can't promise you that once you're discharged you won't be thrown into prison for the rest of your life, nor can I promise that you won't be questioned by other countries about your teammates' locations."

"Since you are so concerned with justice, tell me," she began, lifting her chin, "Do you believe that this is just? Do you believe that I deserve life in prison? Do you believe that I deserve to be thrown out to the wolves?"

"I know that you can help us find one of the most wanted men in the world and you refuse to do so." His failure to answer the question didn't go unnoticed. Ross stood, adjusting his suit jacket, and regarding her with what she assumed was supposed to be nonchalance. "However, we don't need you. We'll find him in the end, with or without your help."

Geneva just gazed up at him. "I'm glad for you, but know that if you hurt him, I will—"

"You will what?" Ross asked with a roll of his eyes. "You are in no position to be making threats."

She ignored this because she was expected to make a near full recovery, and her current position was anything but permanent. "I will kill you and anyone else involved."

His lips pulled back over his teeth. "I could have you arrested for that alone." She could hear the anger in his voice now. "You think that you are untouchable, but no one is. Not you. Not even Steve Rogers."

"And neither are you, I suppose," she murmured then she turned her head, a clear dismissal. She closed her eyes and pushed her cheek into the rough material of the bed. She heard the man huff and march right out of the room.

Geneva sighed heavily and much to her dismay, the door to her room was opened once more, and more footsteps followed. She squeezed her eyes shut in agitation. She knew the exact times of the nurse's supervised visits—as if she would hurt them—and they weren't due for another thirty-seven minutes. She assumed it was Ross once more. "How many times do I have to decline you Secretary—"

"I am no Secretary, Ms. Blake," an accented voice came.

Geneva paused then swallowed. She counted to ten and then swallowed once more.

Then she turned to face her visitors and standing there, in her tiny hospital room, was the King of Wakanda and two of his guard. The two women beside him were dressed in black, their dresses form fitting. Their wrists shined with jewelry, and their heads were void of any hair. They looked as regal as their king, who was dressed in black too. His kind face was a far cry from the man consumed by vengeance and grief she'd bore witness to a few months ago. The silver necklace that rested on his chest was similar to the one that had been embedded in his panther suit.

Geneva winced at the memory of his relentless attacks in that suit. They'd been on opposing sides.

Geneva sat up straighter. If he'd come to interrogate her, he could receive the same treatment as the man who'd come before him. "King T'Challa," she greeted, her voice betraying nothing.

"It's nice to see you again, Ms. Blake. I wish it were under better circumstances," he told her, his voice turning grave toward the end.

Geneva looked at him with disbelief. "You do?"

He chuckled shortly. "I harbor no ill will toward you."

"Only Sergeant Barnes then?"

"No," he replied easily, but he didn't say anything more on the subject. "I've come to take you back to my country to stand trial."

She pursed her lips and rubbed at her throat with her free hand. "Sorry, your Highness. Try again when I'm discharged, there might be a line though."

She ignored his guards' glares and waited for him to leave, but he didn't budge.

"Your friends were right," he let out, amusement in his expression. "You are quite the comedian."

Geneva froze and a million thoughts passed through her mind before she spoke again. "What did you just say?"

He smiled conspiratorially, the brown skin around his mouth crinkling. "You are funny, Ms. Blake."

Geneva stared at him. "What is this?" She didn't think she'd ever been further from understanding something.

He didn't answer. "Agree to stand trial in my country for your crimes."

"No."

"We are trying to help you, woman," the guard on his left spat, clearly done with this situation.

The king held up a placating hand and spoke. "If you agree, you will be discharged into our system, and when you are strong enough, you will be tried."

Geneva was inclined to decline once more, but something in his expression had her hesitating. "Are we both in agreement that I am an innocent woman?" Ross would drag her through the pits of hell if he could, and there was no doubt in her mind that he would paint her to be one of the most dangerous criminals on the planet. T'Challa, however, nodded in agreement to her proclaimed innocence, and Gen was unsure if she'd ever seen anything more sincere. "Fine then. I agree."

His smile was full now. "Good. You were discharged twenty minutes ago, and we are expected elsewhere. An old friend of yours is particularly excited to see you again."

Geneva furrowed her brows, but she could not dwell on his words because his guards took them as a cue to approach her bed and rid her of the handcuffs. They helped her stand, and threw a heavy cloak over her gown. They pushed a hood over the two braids she'd managed to convince a nurse to style for her.

One of them produced a wheelchair and guided her to it. Geneva felt weak, and she was certain she looked it too. She could walk well enough but not for too long, and the muscles she'd trained for as long as she could remember were soft with misuse.

She looked to the king, ignoring her fatigue. "Can you even do this? Can you just wheel me out of here, no questions asked?"

"Did you read the Accords, Ms. Blake?" He asked with a raised brow.

"Not all of them," she murmured sheepishly. "I'd planned to but the whole comatose thing—"

"Ah," he relented. "Perhaps you can read them on the journey to Wakanda."

Geneva cringed a bit. "Perhaps, you can point me to the most important sections."

"Perhaps."

°°°

days later
WAKANDA

SHURI UDAKU TRULY did not understand why her brother, T'Challa, insisted on bringing home strays, but she'd quickly gotten used to it. However, when her brother's love, Nakia, pushed a stranger into her lab on a wheel chair, she'd never been more surprised in her life.

Well, maybe she'd been more surprised a couple of months ago when she'd found out she had a long lost cousin, but that was a story for another day.

Nakia was a spy—a War Dog— who'd served the country of Wakanda for as long as Shuri could remember, but she was now the head of Wakanda's Social Outreach Program— a fitting job for someone who wanted to help anyone she could. Shuri thought of her as a sister, and the woman must've shared her sentiment because otherwise, she wouldn't have dared to bring a stranger into her lab.

Shuri had dismissed everyone in the room immediately. "Who is this?" She asked incredulously, gesturing to the woman whose face was half hidden behind the hood of a large cloak. The clothing she wore swallowed her frame.

Shuri did not recognize her.

Nakia stopped in front of the younger girl and pulled back the stranger's hood.

Shuri gasped as she took in the woman's face. Her deep brown skin had taken on a unhealthy pallor, and the circles beneath her closed eyes were dark. She looked tired, and Shuri could understand why. The last time she'd heard about the woman, she was in a coma, under heavy surveillance, and very much a criminal in majority of the world.

Shuri looked back and forth between the two older women, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You kidnapped an Avenger?" She whisper-shouted.

Nakia rolled her eyes and pulled back her own hood to reveal her short copper hair. The brown skin of her face was pulled tight, and she looked positively beautiful but undeniably fatigued.

"I did not kidnap her," Nakia explained quickly. "Your brother is the one who retrieved her himself. She is here to stand trial by his decree."

Shuri scoffed. That was a laughable statement. "Whatever. Why is she really here?"

"Why have any of them come here?" Nakia shot back. "To escape prosecution. However, if anyone outside of Wakanda asks, she is here to stand trial."

"Okay," Shuri said slowly. She glanced at the woman once more and then back at Nakia. "Why did you bring her to my lab? If she needs help, bring her to the healers. I am no doctor."

"Has anyone ever told you that you are quite rude, Princess?" A quiet voice rasped. Shuri looked at the woman whose brown eyes were clear, and a bit amused.

"Not to my face," Shuri quipped, slightly smirking.

"I can walk now," the woman—Geneva Blake—told her casually and unprompted, sounding stronger than she looked. "I'm not sure why they continue to insist on this chair."

Nakia shook her head with a scoff, but Shuri could sense fondness in action. "You are meant to be on bed rest."

"I've been on bed rest for weeks," she said with a dismissive wave, before reaching out a hand to Shuri. "I'm Geneva Blake."

She blinked down at the woman's hand, waiting a beat too long before shaking it. "Shuri."

"Shuri," Geneva tried out. "Your brother suggested that Nakia bring me here. He says that you can help me."

"My brother offered my help without consulting me?" Typical. It's not that she wouldn't help anyone who needed it, but her brother could be so infuriating when he allowed tasks to be shoved onto her. As if she wasn't preoccupied.

The woman shrugged, humor in her expression. "I wouldn't be angry with him. He was so busy staring into Nakia's eyes that I don't think he even realized what he did." Shuri's anger dissipated then, and she let out a bark of laughter. Geneva just smiled, then pointed at Nakia. "It is nice to finally meet the man she has been brooding over for the better part of ten years."

Shuri gaped at that, her eyes darting between the two women. "You knew an Avenger and you never said anything?"

Nakia shrugged as enigmatic as ever. "She wasn't an Avenger when I knew her."

Geneva made another dismissive gesture. "We didn't even know each other's real names. Anyway, we haven't spoken since 2012– when I had to forgo the whole espionage thing. That was an eventful year."

Didn't Shuri know it. Aliens had attempted to take over New York, and the Avengers had been introduced to the world.

Shuri hadn't really cared for them. She'd known heroes all her life, but Geneva had been the one to garner her attention and her admiration. The only black person on the team, and a black woman, Geneva was someone to look up to. The fact that Nakia, another woman she'd looked up to, had known her even before the Battle of New York intrigued Shuri. And to have no clue of each other's true identities and still be able to formulate some semblance of a friendship was fascinating.

"You must tell me how you two met," Shuri demanded of the women before her, her curiosity peaked. Nakia and Geneva shared a look that the princess could not decipher.

"Maybe another time," Nakia answered with a noncommittal shrug.

Shuri narrowed her eyes, but relented for the sake of the previously comatose woman. "I will hold you both to that." The princess walked to her computer and began typing away. "If you need to contact Steve Rogers, I could help you with that, but he went dark a few—"

"I'd rather not have him see me like this."

Shuri blinked, not understanding. "Well, he loves you doesn't he?" She asked rather bluntly.

Nakia clicked her tongue and chastised the girl. "Shuri."

"What?" She asked defensive as she switched to her native tongue—Xhosa— and looked at Nakia. "If he loves her, he should be happy to see her at all."

"And he would be, but my pride can only take so much right now," Geneva said in response, though the comment wasn't necessarily directed at her nor was it meant for her to understand. Shuri's cheeks heated in embarrassment. Of course the woman would be able to understand. "Besides, I can live without him for a moment longer."

Shuri nodded. She would never truly grasp romantic love, quite frankly. Not if it was as much work as her brother and Nakia— and now Geneva and her love— made it seem. She shook her head. That was unimportant. "How can I help you?"

There was another shared look between the two older women. "It's a bit complicated," Geneva said when their gazes met once more.

Bast, when is it not? she thought. Shuri sighed and tucked a loose braid into the bun at the top of her head. "Go ahead. I am listening."

°°°