Command • T'Challa

Steps

I tried to swallow back my anger as I walked up the last few steps to the second floor. I knew it was written across my face, but I didn't care. I was furious that someone had bombed the building, furious that this stupid Accords meeting was even being held at all- and furious that I couldn't just live a normal life for even one damn day. I didn't want to deal with any of these problems, the goal of finding the Winter Soldier- Barnes, I reminded myself- was only a flickering flame that threatened to go out if just one more thing went wrong.

Yeah, I was pretty pissed.

I reached to swing the door open to continue my stomp-walk, but was further angered to see that the damn thing was bolted shut. Oh, no problem. With a flick of my wrist, a green spark shot out, and the door handle was twisted to nothing. My powers were stronger when I was angry- that's true of almost anyone, but when people like Wanda and I got mad, bad, bad things were likely to happen.

 I yanked the door open, and the severed steel bolt fell out of the door, falling to the ground with a dull clank, utterly useless.

 I get another strange sensation, kind of like the one I had before, but more like an echo- less urgent and not quite as strong, but still forceful.

 I was in a long room, sort of like a hall. Someone was standing at the end of it, their head down, leaning on the handrailing that ran against the window frame- it was T'Challa.

He was deep in thought and not even aware of my presence, it seemed. An image of his father came to my mind, that of a loving father, not the king who threatened my already-limited freedom. I was seeing his father from T'Challa's point of view. How he missed him.

"I am sorry about the loss of your father." I hear myself saying, walking towards him at a brisk pace.

"I can only hope to be as good of a king in his place." T'Challa said, his words heavy, dripping with grief. It was becoming very hard to be so angry with him- damn my empathy- but I knew what it felt like. I reached out my hand towards him, now that I was close enough to almost touch him. A wave of memories came back, and I saw his mother, bits and pieces of his home, and hearing his father's hearty laugh. T'Challa was shocked by all of this, his tear-filled eyes wide as we saw his father come towards him.  T'Challa said something in Wakandan, but I understood that he meant "father" when he saw him approach.

 "I am so proud of you, my son!" his father said, his arms open to embrace him. T'Challa leaned in to hug his father, but he dissipated like a wisp of smoke, fading away like some strange dream.
 T'Challa uttered the Wakandan word again, tears falling, his hands reaching out for his father, but he wasn't there.

"I know." I say. "You can always see, but never touch. Always witness, but never feel. It's the same for me-" I told him. T'Challa seemed confused, but I closed my eyes, concentrating. An image of my mother appeared, like we were back in our little apartment kitchen in DC, the linoleum looking like it was forty years old, the paint peeling on the cabinets- the sparseness of food in the open pantry cupboard. At least he knew I was no princess-at least he knew where I came from.

"Baby girl, you home already?" my momma was saying. Even though I knew it wasn't real, my heart leapt as my mother came towards me, passing between me and T'Challa, reaching out to embrace me.

"No, I'm not home, Momma." I said, reaching out to her hands, trying to touch them, as she too, faded away into nothing.

I let everything fade, focusing on the now.

 "I understand loss- I am sorry for yours, but maybe now you understand the struggle." I said.

"My mother died many years ago, when I was just a boy." he said.