Joy ride (part1): Stealing

over

It's over..

These last few days have passed James in a daze. This. This is the first clear moment he has. Has had. And it's too little, too late. Shuri is looking up at him with sad eyes; staring just inches removed. Inches; but it might as well be yards; miles; lightyears. Shuri does not try to travers that distance; doesn't reach out and touch and pull him in.

And now, soon; soon, it really will be miles.

"It's over, isn't it?" and that; that right there would be his first clear thought. Useless, pointless and, again, way too late. James's eyes prick with it, and he swallows. To no effect. Shuri starts, peers into his eyes harder, like she's looking for something. Something she cannot find. And yet, that distance remains. An invisible wall, cold as steel. Hard as vibranium.

Finally, the princess speaks, in a near-whisper: "we.. us?" Then, her voice finds strength. Surety: "we were not a mistake."

A balm to his wounds, perhaps. But they are useless; words, without power. He does not believe their promises. He cannot trust in her word. James crosses his arms tight, thumbs digging deep into his armpits. Fingers over the silver sigil on his shoulder. Two sides of a coin, they tell him.

But he has trouble believing the words. He has trouble believing their gestures and promises in writing, when they are sending him away. When James can hear the operative word, loud and clear.

We were.

Past tense.

It's over.

Everyone is here. Everyone is saying goodbyes. T'Challa and M'Baku, making quiet conversation. The queen, Ramonda, gliding amongst them with her perfect grace. The Dora Milaje, the Jabari warriors. Okoye and Mohai, the first meeting James's eye with that graceful strength when Mohai shrinks in on herself and ducks away. And Wanda.

And how is Wanda here? Jakes watches in mute fascination as she hugs Ramonda and rubs at suspiciously wet eyes. Her travelbag is over a shoulder; sensible hiking boots under kaki shorts. Her dark sleeveless shirt, trailing down to her thighs, show her true colors: that dark magic red, accented in her hair. And how does that work? How is Wanda awake? They did not use the Chalice. That, Shuri has assured him of. Over and over.

James has a little backpack as well; a set of clean clothes and an empty notebook. Like there's anything to write. Like there ever will be anything worth remembering now. James doesn't think so.

They will send him away, with his backpack and his clean clothes. And with the arm. The writing on the inside, which he supposes could be their claim on him. But, the brand on the other side negates that. He wants it to be a black panther. Hell, he wants it to be anything, other than what they have given him. The border tribe's horseman, the miner's lion, the river tribe's crocodile.. Even Jabari's gorilla, if they'd let him have it.

But they will not.

"Ready to go?" the queen, gliding in between them. Despite the wool in his head, the beating of drums in his ears, James doesn't miss she knows better than to ask if everything is alright. It's not. It's over. It's over. They are over.

James's mind will not move on; doesn't want to. He'd stay here, in this moment if he could. Hasn't really moved on at all, since Shuri found him and.. That he'd ever wish to be frozen strikes James as next-level ironic. Or it should have. And yet, through the haze, he can hardly care. Because it's over; it's over.

Over. And no one will have him now. Cast aside with a claim over his shoulder, by something or someone that doesn't even exist. A placeholder, more likely to ward off any patron ready to take up responsibility than that it will extend any form of protection. There's no country, no agency, no friend associated with the sign they've given it and it doesn't seem like.. It's just..

All over.

Finally, Shuri is the one that answers the queen. She turns to her mother, stating with a kind of fearful defiance: "we were not a mistake."

A silence, where James has time to ponder in distant wonder the past tense in that sentence. How that is not even the part she hesitated over. The easy acceptance from both women as the mother answers. And shouldn't there at least be tears? James feels there should be tears. Yet, he is too tired, too off to bother with the pretence.

"You were not." The queen agrees, easily. "Look what you did, together." She gestures, hands encompassing the mingling of Jabari and Panther warriors. When James looks, his eyes catch on M'Baku's, his thin knowing grin as the man returns the look, then continues his conversation with the king.

M'Baku should be happy, James considers. James and Wanda, both to be sent on their way. Out onto a path through the jungle that should take them right out of Wakanda and into Nigeria. How convenient for the Jabari ruler: both Colonizer interlopers on their merry way. And Wanda actually wanted to leave without being prompted. Right after waking.

The queen continues: "M'Baku may have extended a hand to us in friendship, but our tribes are still divided. We are obviously not quite ready. Especially as seeing our borders are open now; our knowledge and wealth known to the world. To protect our own, we will need to work together at our best. And you have shown us, in a safe environment, that we are not working well together yet. That is going to take time. Practice.

"James's little run showed where we need to improve. But, it also showed we can pull together when needed. This has brought our tribes closer. Shuri, I swear, you and M'Baku argue like siblings now, instead of rivals."

Shuri looks to her brother and his new-found friend with an theatrical eye roll, and James has a moment of sick jealousy, wondering if his perfect replacement isn't even waiting for him to leave before stepping into that place in the princess's heart. Though, M'Baku's interests seem of the poke-it-with a stick kind, not the romantic kind. Besides, it was Ramonda that came to him, after Shuri. And, for that gesture, empty as James fears it to be, he tries to find something nice to say. "I guess I was a decent enemy."

The queen steps closer; between him and her daughter. Knowing eyes demands full attention, one graceful arm comes up to hover between them. "No, you were a safe exercise. One that showed our flaws with no casualties. And, there's this now, between us." Her hand finally lands, lightly, on the side of his shoulder. On the new insignia. "This is but a token of the proof you will carry next to your heart. We are family now, White Wolf. And what I have here are the documents to declare this to the world at large."

Ramonda smiles again, before pushing a folded paper on him, the cover emblazoned with the same silver sign Okoye put on his shoulder. It's an official document. A Wakandan passport. James frowns down at them and opens them, reading himself to be brother to T'Challa the king, son to Ramonda, queen of Wakanda.

And that doesn't even make a lick of sense. If he is theirs, then why is there no crest of a panther branded onto his shoulder? Why make such a bold claim, without claiming him? Why let him go, but not tell him where to go. What to do? What to be. Whom to be. All he has is empty promises, the backpack, and the double-edge arm. Engravings on this inside hidden underneath, the silver wolf's head painted proudly on his shoulder.

But it's just a lick of paint. Hydra won't hesitate to scratch it off and put on whatever strikes their fancy. Which they will. It's over; It's over, and they are sending him away. Alone, unprotected but for words and.. And their names.

Still, James recrosses his arms; lets his thumb run over the inside: over the armpit's old metal, his first vibranium. He fingers the grooves. The words. Their names. And he grins. That side, that will not wash away. They'd have to scratch it out. Which is hard to do, with vibranium. Even if one has the tools. And even then, it would be liable to show through, eventually. It may be over, but the memory cannot be taken.