Electronic Communicationis

Shuri was a genius, but even she couldn’t figure out how to diffuse the sexual tension in the room whenever her brother and Nakia interacted.

She couldn’t figure out what was taking the two idiots so long, either. So she found herself thinking of the two with grudging respect. After all, anything that could stump Princess Shuri of Wakanda was worthy of respect in some measure. But there was only exasperation in Shuri’s mind at the moment, as she watched Nakia gingerly patch up the cut the stupid coloniser had dared to make in her throat. T’Challa sat opposite her, very obviously not focussing on the information his bracelet was displaying. Shuri sighed, moving towards the front of the plane and out of sight.

Nakia hissed softly, and T’Challa cleared his throat. “Do you need help?”

 “No,” replied Nakia matter-of-factly. “I am quite capable of doing this myself.”

“Of course,” said T’Challa quickly, and she could practically hear him hesitating. “But would you… like any assistance?”

“I’m almost done.” Something light dropped to the floor and Nakia sighed audibly. “Or not.”

“Here, let me.” The swishing of robes, as T’Challa stood and moved towards Nakia, affixing the temporary bandage over the cut. Shuri pumped her fist in victory. Well, semi-victory. Finally! They were getting somewhere.

Silence, punctuated at last by a wounded noise from T’Challa. “The cut is deep.”

“But you didn’t kill him.” Shuri could hear the smile in Nakia’s voice. “I’m so proud.”

“Ah,” T’Challa responded simply to Nakia’s teasing tone. Shuri strained her ears to hear more. Say something intelligent! Sweep her off her feet! On second thought, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Anyone who swept Nakia off her feet would be beaten soundly by said Nakia before being instructed to never do that again, and Shuri wouldn’t put it past her to cuff the Black Panther round the ears and spray water at him from a Windex bottle. She smiled at the mental image.

“I didn’t kill him, yet.” Shuri was shaken out of her musings by her brother’s voice.

“Still, progress.”

A long silence. Shuri wanted to bang her head against the wall. Kiss already!

“He hurt you.” T’Challa’s voice was deep and angry now, and Shuri sighed. Only her brother would turn casual flirting into an intense discussion about murder and revenge. Nakia obviously agreed, but knew better than to simply say that out loud. Shuri heard a shifting of fabric as she shrugged. “So I sprained his wrist, broke his nose, and gave him a concussion.”

Thank God for Nakia, at least.

“Would you have let Okoye kill him?”

A pause. “Perhaps.”

“Are you saying you prefer Okoye to me?”

“Yes, of course.” The reply came without hesitation.

“How very hurtful.”

“If it’s any consolation, she would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“She would.”

“And then if you did something stupid, she would punch you. And if you endangered our people, she would promptly push you off the face of the earth.”

“I believe that is physically impossible.”

“Perhaps.” The word came softly. “But when has that ever stopped anyone?”

“What are you saying?”

“Your friends the Avengers defy the impossible daily. So why can’t you?”

“Why can’t we?”

Finally Shuri had had enough. She got up and marched back towards her brother and Nakia, who were standing uncomfortably close together, and sprang apart as she approached. Ignoring Nakia, Shuri addressed herself solely to her brother. “Brother, if you don’t kiss her right now, there will be footage of the King of Wakanda flying halfway across my lab on YouTube before the sun sets.”

T’Challa laughed, red-faced, and so did Nakia, but Nakia was patently awesomer than Shuri’s romantically inept brother, so she also said “For the sake of Wakanda, then.” and finally, finally kissed T’Challa.

It was a long kiss, and although Shuri could have at any point begun recording, she was proud (and a little sad afterwards) that she didn’t.

It was a very long kiss, so long that once they pulled apart and T’Challa noticed his little sister standing there, watching the whole thing with an expression of polite disinterest. Nakia laughed, and Shuri grinned, moving off towards the front of the ship.

T’Challa joined her a little later. Shuri’s grin grew as she observed the king out of the corner of her eye. T’Challa finally caught her staring and grinned. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your thoughts are loud enough for two voices.”

“Yes,” Shuri leaned in towards him. “Because I am a genius.”

T’Challa grinned fondly, turning away.  Shuri smiled. Turns out she could diffuse sexual tension.

Of course, that was the exact moment something landed rather heavily on top of the plane.

And then a shiver ripped through Shuri’s body, and the world went dark.

***

Shuri wasn’t sure where she was, but if someone didn’t remove the bag over her head, she was going to puke.

Partly because of the smell, partly because really, a bag? A bag. Someone had obviously dared to kidnap Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and they hadn’t even bothered to do something a little more original than a bag. She snorted.

“If anyone is out there,” she called, “you could have gone to a little more trouble than this. I am the Princess of Wakanda, you know.”

Silence.

She tried again. “Hello?”

She heart a snort. “Welcome, your… royal highness, or whatever it is I should call you. What does someone call a Princess, anyway?”

“Like you’d care,” she called back, trying to place the snark in the voice. She tilted her head under the bag, straining her eyes to see through the dark, musty cloth. “You kidnapped me.”

“No, actually,” the voice called back, sounding faintly interested. “This is one party no one told me I was invited to.” A yawn. “And apparently, attendance isn’t optional, so. How’d they get the jump on you?”

Shrui frowned. “I don’t know. I remember something heavy on the plane. Perhaps some sort of EMP. But anything that could disable a Wakandan plane built with my technology would be…,” she shook her head. “Impossible.”

A snort. “Right. How old are you, anyway?”

Shuri stiffened. “That is none of your concern. Where are we, anyways?” She strained her ears to hear a rustling of fabric, presumably as someone shrugged. “How should I know? They jumped me. I’m kind of… offended, actually. I mean, last time I was kidnapped, at least it was a little more original than this. You know. Bag over the head, tied to a chair, the whole shebang.”

Shuri sighed. “So they did it to you, too?”

“Yup.” A sigh, then a tink as something small hid the wall. “Didn’t hold me long, though. So they put me in a cell. You know, I should probably have just pretended to still be tied to the chair. Oh well.”

Shuri frowned. “So you’re not still tied up?” She tugged at the wrist restraints, but they were bound tight. “How did you escape?”

“Cufflinks.”

“Cufflinks.”

“Yup. Turns out Armani isn’t just good for chicks and cars.”

Shuri furrowed her brow, turning her head towards the voice. “Who are you? You sound American. And rich, probably. And arrogant.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” said the voice with a grunt. A scraping of feet against stone, then a sigh, presumably as the man took a seat, then a series of quiet tinks as small objects, probably pebbles or tiny pieces of pebble hit the wall. “Arrogant. Rich. American.” A final tink, louder than the others. “Most famous man in the world?” The last word was touched by impatience. Or perhaps annoyance. Or perhaps resentment. Not that it mattered.

“I have no idea who you are,” Shuri said honestly. “Or why I’m here, either.”

“Probably because you’re a techie,” the voice was loud again. “Like me. This cliché freak probably has some TECHIE FETISH.” The last two word were yelled, probably in the hopes of provoking their kidnappers into saying- or doing- something. A beat, then a noise between a sigh and a groan. “Come ON! ANYONE! Can you hear us?”

“I don’t think that worked,” Shuri called back.

“Yes, thank you for clearing that up,” grumbled the voice.

Then a blinding light appeared in the room, so bright it penetrated the bag around Shuri’s head.

A voice, deep and booming, filled the room.

“I hear you.”