Great Rift: Wakanda

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T'Challa and the Elpis group get the injured to the clinic he mentioned, for proper medical attention. There is good news about Rahne, but then rather distressing news, as Ororo and Nathan find out they've landed in the middle of a situation far more complex than they thought.


The clinic was small, not anywhere near the size of even a small hospital, but it had seemed very much like an emergency room for the first hour or two after they'd arrived and set to helping the staff with the wounded. Triage had been necessary, and a couple of the worst-wounded had been rushed into surgery.

It was quiet now, finally. They hadn't lost anyone else, either on the road or here at the clinic. It was, possibly, a better result than they could have expected. Certainly far better than if they'd taken the wounded on the much longer drive to Arusha.

"Angelo." The voice calling his name wasn't immediately familiar to the tired young man, but T'Challa repeated himself, sympathy in his dark eyes. "There's a place that you can wash up," he said, his eyes going to Angelo's blood-stained hands.

Angelo blinked down at his hands as if he hadn't noticed the blood before - which he quite possibly hadn't. "...yeah", he said after a moment, not thinking to wonder how the man knew his name. "Washin' up would be good."

"This way," T'Challa said, gesturing for Angelo to follow him. "There are showers, in the back room of the clinic."

"Useful." He followed, steps slow and weary. "Um... who're you?"

"T'Challa," was the slightly wry response. "And no, you do not know me."

"Then you know Nate. Or Ororo?" Those were the likeliest of the available options, after all.

"Ororo and I met, last night, at dinner. This is my home," T'Challa said simply, looking down at Angelo from his towering height.

"Oh." He looked up, and up, at the huge man. "So you were workin' in the village too... or visitin' someone?"

"Passing through," was the guarded response. "Merely passing through."

The guardedness of the answer was... odd, but Angelo's mind wasn't clear enough to really process it just at the moment. He just nodded, accepting the coincidence for now. "Okay."

T'Challa stopped at the door to the room with the showers. "When you finish, we will be waiting," he said. "I must speak to Ororo, explain..." He trailed off, shaking his head, and for the first time looked nearly as tired as Angelo felt.

"Explain?" Angelo asked with his hand on the door, frowning in confusion as much as anything.

T'Challa just waved him forward, looking vaguely distressed as he turned and walked away.

--

Nathan sank into one of the chairs, the tension draining from his body as the doctor patted him on the shoulder and then went back to his patients. Rahne was going to be all right. He'd been fairly sure she would be - he'd controlled the bleeding, and the bullet had gone straight through - but it was one thing to make a hurried assessment in the dark and another to hear from a trained medical professional.

Anybody who had ever had a friend injured knew that hovering did absolutely no good at all; even less good when the medical facility they were in was small, with little room for even the most curious onlooker. Which is why the moment Nathan had properly taken a seat Ororo was up and out of hers, crossing the room towards him. "Good news?" she ventured hopefully.

He nodded tiredly. The tension had gone but so had the last of his energy. Telekinetic pressure bandages on several people - in two different cars - had taken quite a lot out of him, on top of the fight and the worry about Rahne. "She'll be fine," he said, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "Her arm's broken, and there was some muscle damage, obviously - nothing that won't heal, he says."

"Good. Good. You took very good care of her, Nathan." There were empty chairs on either side of him and she took one, placing her hands on the arms and turning to look at the man. "Now it is time to take care of yourself. You should rest."

"You don't precisely look fresh as a daisy yourself." The retort wasn't as tart as it could have been. Nathan slouched in the chair, a sigh escaping him. "Next time I ask you to come with me for a nice semi-working vacation, feel free to laugh in my face."

"To be fair, you could hardly have predicted this." It wasn't as if he was a precog any longer, obviously. Briefly Ororo considered what a terrifying addition to the Nathan Dayspring Mental Stew that would be; it wasn't a pretty thought. "And even with Rahne's injury considered, it is still good that we were there; I would hate to think what the casualties would have been like if we were not."

"They were bad enough as it was." The deep voice that answered was not Nathan's. T'Challa paused in the doorway, then came in and sat down in one of the chairs opposite them. "It's my fault," he said, his voice low, dispirited. "I knew they were abroad, these... raiders. I did not expect them to attack a Tanzanian village. All of the other attacks have been on this side of the border."

"We are in Wakanda, then," Nathan said. "I thought so."

Ororo's expression was surprised only for a moment, then she nodded her understanding and straightened up in her chair. "You cannot blame yourself for the actions of evil men. That will help no one."

"I blame myself because it is my doing," T'Challa said bleakly. "My actions, that have caused this reaction. I tried to stop a wrong, and in doing so, provoked a dozen more to be committed against innocents." He shook his head slightly at the two X-Men. "These are retaliatory strikes," he said. "Because of what Wakanda - what I have been doing, to stop convoys smuggling vibranium out of my country."

The mention of vibranium reminded Ororo of some of the articles she had read about the region - they contained vague references, however, and nothing that she could pinpoint and affix to T'Challa personally. "Do you know who is behind these convoys and attacks?" She knew better than to ask if the authorities had been involved, as it was clear that T'Challa was the sort to take matters into his own hands. That, and the fact that the authorities would likely be less than no help at all under the circumstances.

"I do know," T'Challa said, straightening in his chair with something close to loathing sparking in his dark eyes for a moment. "He runs the smuggling operation. He is-"

"Who are you?" Nathan asked suddenly, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing and locked on T'Challa's face. "Don't think I missed how deferential the staff was when we arrived. Whatever's going on, you're not some random vigilante." He glanced sideways at Ororo. #We need to know who we're dealing with before we get any deeper into this.#

Suddenly the tension in the room seemed to mount again as the two men eyed each other suspiciously. "It would help us to know your connection to the goings-on," Ororo said after a moment, in what she hoped was a diplomatic tone. "Obviously we do not blame you for what happened, but it seems as if there is more to this history than you have let on."

T'Challa stared at Nathan. Nathan stared at T'Challa. The tension ratcheted up a few more notches, as the two men sized each other up. Thankfully, the idiocy inherent in picking a fight in the waiting room of a medical clinic sunk in, seemingly simultaneously. It was T'Challa who broke eye contact first, turning his attention to Ororo.

"My name is T'Challa," he said, with a sort of tired dignity. "I had no reason to lie to you about that. I merely... did not mention the rest of it. I have been helping to direct operations against the vibranium smugglers. You must both have realized by now that I am a mutant. I have no official position with the Wakandan military. But they do take my... direction, in situations like this, where my abilities are useful."

"And you directed them to move against the smugglers?" Ororo asked, wanting to know just what sort of skirmish they had walked in the middle of.

T'Challa shrugged, almost awkwardly. "No. It is more that I facilitate their efforts. I have tracking skills, as well as my mutant abilities. And my people speak to me most freely."

"Your people?" Nathan asked, his voice quiet but a definite emphasis to the first word.

T'Challa met his eyes again, and there was no sense, this time, that the two of them were going to go at it in the living room. "Wakanda was born from a group of tribes that lived in this area long before the colonial powers drew lines on a map," he said. There was a presence about him, suddenly, despite his reserve. A steeliness, that made it very clear that this was a man who was not accustomed to backing down. "We have maintained many of those traditions, even as we moved into the modern day. My tribe, you would call the Panthers. They were leaders, both in war and in peace."

"As you are a leader now," Ororo murmured. This really came as no surprise. It was obvious just from looking at him that T'Challa was born and bred to lead; there was nobility in everything he did. She found herself blushing just slightly at these thoughts and pushed them away quickly. "You were telling us of the man behind the attacks? What have you learned of him?"

"His name is William Moses. An arms dealer, and a mutant himself..." T'Challa started to explain. It took some time, in the end.

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Okay, that icon makes me think Nate is pouting at someone.