The Magnificent Seven: Exile

[x-cable.livejournal.com]

Before the team leaves, T'Challa comes to see Nathan. They talk about what happened, about choices made and motivations, and T'Challa tells Nathan about the decision he's made.


"Well, you look like shit." It wasn't the most diplomatic thing to say to a king when he was standing in your doorway, but Nathan was exhausted almost beyond belief, sore as hell, and still feeling more than a little woozy. T'Challa just raised an eyebrow at him, and Nathan gestured with his free hand at the duffel bag on the bed (the other hand was busy holding an ice pack to the side of his face, again). "I'm packed. Where are we going, again?"

T'Challa snorted softly, coming the rest of the way into the room. "You are going home, Nathan. And while I will forever be grateful that you and your friends seem to be making a habit out of saving me and my country, I would dearly appreciate not having to send you home in worse shape than you came a fourth time."

"Not my fault." Nathan lowered the ice pack, eyeing T'Challa, who was moving pretty stiffly himself. "You know, you're really going to start pissing Trask off one of these days if you keep living through her assassination attempts."

"One can hope." T'Challa went over to the window, pulling back the gauzy curtain and staring out, bleak-faced, at the damaged capital. They were in another government-owned guest house, not all that different than the first, which had apparently taken some fairly heavy damage in the fighting, according to Domino - who was quite pissy herself, given the broken leg.

Nathan repressed a shudder, yet again. For her to have been injured, despite her powers, things had to have been very bad when the Taygetos team came for T'Challa. I'm sorry, Pete. Bad idea to bring her, maybe, but I didn't want to leave her alone...

"Nathan?" T'Challa was suddenly standing much closer to Nathan's chair and frowning down at him, a hand half-outstretched as if he'd been about to reach out to touch his shoulder. Nathan blinked up at him, and the king's frown deepened. "Where were you, just now? I called your name twice."

"Sorry," Nathan said, giving his head a little shake, hoping that would clear the cobwebs. "Mind's wandering, still... Jean and I apparently disregarded the instruction manual on our brains in a new and awful way."

"So Frost told me." Still frowning, T'Challa sank down into the chair opposite his, and was silent for a long moment. "What the two of you did..."

"I'm sorry."

T'Challa's eyebrows went up. "For?"

"You were about to say that you wished we'd found another way. That fighting an invasion brought on by the manipulation of fear with more fear was like fighting fire with fire, and now you're in an even worse position," Nathan said, almost rambling. "And you're right, but damn it, they were going to shoot you, and then walk right into this city and do God knows what. You don't honestly think that you were the only target? You're just the most visible one, the symbol-"

"Nathan," T'Challa said, not quite sternly, raising a hand to stem the flood of words. Nathan fell silent, and the king of Wakanda sighed, letting his hand fall. "I won't lie to you, my friend. I don't see this precisely discouraging this... cult that's developing around me. But the rest of it - no. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and you and Jean forced an end to that battle without one more shot being fired. I regret the deaths on both sides, Nathan. These invaders were manipulated, lied to. I'm furious at them and their commanders for what they've done to my country," and there was no denying the cold rage coloring T'Challa's voice, "but the true blame for this lies with Tara Trask. And this Sebastian Shaw, for abetting her."

"And the kids?" Nathan's eyes strayed to the window, unfocused, as if part of his mind actually thought it could follow the SHIELD plane on its westward course. He hadn't seen the two Taygetos operatives who'd been taken into custody. He'd wanted to, but T'Challa's doctor friend had been rather insistent about checking him and Jean over.

"The children? I blame Trask and Shaw for them, as well. Trask and Shaw, and whoever made them this way in the first place." T'Challa's voice was suddenly very tired and sad. "So young."

"They grow up," Nathan said, his voice tight, and finally looked back at T'Challa. Just in time to see the understanding, the comprehension in his friend's eyes, at last.

"...yes," the king of Wakanda said softly. "I imagine they do."

Nathan fought the urge to break eye contact. "I meant to tell you. Sometime. When did you-"

"When they showed up, just as you'd predicted." T'Challa paused. "I imagine it's not something easily shared," he went on, almost gently, "but I would like to understand the rest of it. Why do you think I was so willing to help you set up a DDR center here, Nathan? I've traveled enough on my own continent to know what an... evil it is, to use children as soldiers. And I'm a mutant myself, who may have mutant children. That there are those out there who would look at my children, at anyone's children, as tools, as commodities... it's a battle that's worth fighting with every weapon at hand."

"And all your heart and soul," Nathan whispered tiredly, not quite realizing he was speaking aloud.

T'Challa's smile was brief, almost sorrowful, and the two men sat there in silence for a few minutes before he broke it once more. "I'm leaving," he said, and Nathan sat bolt upright, dropping the icepack.

"What?"

"Once things have settled, and I've done everything I can to help in the aftermath of this crisis, I am leaving Wakanda." Nathan opened his mouth to protect, but T'Challa shook his head and went on steadily. "Not forever. Just for a time."

"But-" Why, Nathan had meant to ask. But he knew, and he sank back into the chair, trying to keep the moment of despair off his face. "So she wins, after all. She hasn't killed you, but she's driven you into hiding."

"Who said anything about hiding?" T'Challa said, almost sternly. "Nathan, I will leave, because my people need to remember that they don't need a... temporary and reluctant avatar of an ancient God to guide them. Until they remember who the Black Panther is meant to be - who T'Challa is. Who they are." He shrugged, not quite diffidently. "It may take time. But it's for the good of my people. The only service I can provide them, now. It's not what they want, but it is what they need."

Nathan was shaking his head, a slightly desolate-sounding laugh escaping him. "That sounds to me like you're just trying to make the best of a bad situation."

"What else can the world ask, of any of us?" T'Challa said simply.

True enough, although not particularly comforting. "So where will you go?"

A shrug. "I haven't decided. Although," and there was a suspicious gleam in T'Challa's eye, something almost like humor, "I find myself remembering an offer I received several months ago."

"Oh?"

"I was asked if I might be interested in serving as a visiting lecturer of environmental studies and policy. Apparently my professional expertise, combined with my role here in Wakanda, makes me a unique case. Or someone who may be worth listening to for a term, at least." T'Challa was silent for a moment, smiling inscrutably.

Nathan just stared at him. "Okay, now you're just pausing for dramatic effect. Where?"

"Central European University."

Nathan nearly choked. "In Budapest?" When T'Challa nodded, Nathan wheezed with laughter, one arm guarding his ribs. "Oh God, don't make me laugh, it hurts. You don't think it was actually Barath's idea, do you?"

T'Challa shrugged, the smile turning into something warmer, if weary. "No idea. But, Nathan," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "doesn't it give you some hope that the offer came? Either way?"

Whether the idea had initiated with the notorious strings-puller in the Prime Minister's office - who had after all spent the bulk of his time in government arranging just that sort of thing in the name of genetic integration - or whether it had been the university's own, reaching out to T'Challa for his experience and expertise, not caring that he was the mutant king of Wakanda...

It wasn't all fear and manipulation and people like Trask pulling strings and causing chaos. There was so much more, so much good. He knew that. Nathan took a deep breath and let it out, along with at least a measure of tension.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, it does. Will you go?"

T'Challa shrugged again. "I'm not sure. I would have to see if the offer is still open. And there are other options. I could come to the US, see New York properly-"

"See Ororo again?"

He got a grin, at that. "There's nothing wrong with seeking out pleasant company in one's exile, is there?"