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“Damn it, Abigail, slow down.”
The regal being thrust both of her strong steely hands against the double doors guarding the entrance to the private room, palms jamming against the ornate carvings depicting the roar of a panther and the triumph of a Bellweather, gold and silver united to portray the symbol of the woman’s family, her kingdom, her heritage.
Her legacy.
Her identity.
Her.
The doors slammed open, and Abigail marched through, the scent of glimmering iron and the crackle of electricity, of nature’s anguish, embraced her and urged her forward. Dark flaring eyes the color of onyx and filled with the anger and vengeance of the most furious warrior known to man scanned the room with barely a flicker of care. She wasn’t there to relax. To rest. To peruse the cadre of unopen books or shimmering vibranium.
Abigail wasn’t there to partake of the family portraits. To gaze upon her grandmother. Her mother - the queen. To study the paintings of far off battles and moments of diplomacy. Depictions of successful harvests and the wealth of spirit and pride of her country.
No.
Abigail wasn’t there to let her world comfort her.
There was no comfort left to give. To be felt.
Not now.
Not ever.
She ignored the blonde jogging after her and swept towards the closest table overflowing with the newest weapon her people had invented. Spears. Armor.
The Artificial Intelligence unit began to hum to life, “Black Panther…”
“Abigail!” Raelle picked up her pace, shout cutting off the gentle voice, “Stop! This isn’t…”
“Isn’t what?” the princess spun and sneered at her friend.
Friend.
The Bellweather snorted to herself.
She once thought Raelle Collar was her friend.
Her best friend.
Her sister.
Now?
“Shut up, Shitbird.” Abigail glared, “If you have a problem, you can get the hell out of my country.”
Raelle met the glare as she came to a stop a few feet away, dark gray jacket askew and exhausted hands shaking, “It wasn’t…”
“Yes, it was!”
The room shook with the force of the words.
The certainty.
The hatred.
The room seemed to shrink.
The air crackled harder, angrier.
The hairs on the back of Raelle’s neck stood on end, and her instincts told her to duck. To raise her arms, fists ready to protect herself.
She didn’t.
Instead, she shifted her weight and widened her stance, shabby sneakers ready to fall apart planted firmly on the rug strewn floor.
Raelle’s muscles tensed, and her fingers flexed, as Abigail’s voice sliced through her.
Word.
By.
Word.
“The Spree attacked my home .” Abigail growled, “They murdered my cousin. Charvel is dead because of them .”
“Ab…”
“Shut up.” She took one menacing step forward, “They killed her. You saw it. They rose from the ocean and sang until everyone…EVERYONE…MY PEOPLE… jumped to their deaths. You saw it!” Abigail took another step, “Charvel is dead because of them. They cut her throat. Let her blood run free. Left her to die. Alone.” Her jaw locked, “The Spree did this, Raelle. I’m not going to stop until I hunt down every last one of them.”
Raelle inhaled unsteadily, head shaking mournfully, “It wasn’t the Spree, Abs.”
A scoff, “What? Because you’re having sex with one you think you know something?” Her eyes were fire, tongue sharp, “You brought them into my home.”
“No, Abs…”
“You did this!” Abigail gestured, “You! I let you into Wakanda. Let you into my country. Convinced my mother to let you stay. I didn’t say a word when you hid here. A mutant .” She spat the word like a curse. “My family allowed a mutant to stay with us when your own country hunted you. Wanted to test you. Make you a lab rat.” She stood tall, shoulders back, jaw tight, “I should have let your military treat you like the rat you are.” Her words were ice, “Or let ours.”
The general eyed her.
Like a circus freak.
A circus freak he wanted to have entertain him, amusing him.
Raelle stood still, hands at her sides, face forward.
Her uniform was crisp, one of the few times it would pass inspection on the first try, and her mouth stayed shut.
“You should be dead.” the general mused.
Raelle didn’t speak.
A smirk played at aged lips, “There have been reports that you heal people, Sergeant.”
“I’m a medic, sir. Performing my job.”
“Yes. Except,” he idly strolled around her, eyes never leaving her, “you’ve saved those on the brink of death. With your hands.” He paused, “Only your hands.”
Raelle flinched at the memory, the threat, the reminder of secrets she shared with only a very few people she trusted.
Then.
Her eyes flashed.
Angry.
Full of the Cession fight she could never have taken away from her.
The fight that got her into the army…and out of it.
“Scylla didn’t kill Charvel.”
“Can’t handle the truth? Your girlfriend is a murderer .”
“Shut up.”
“She tricked you, Raelle. Played you.”
Raelle’s eyelashes fluttered softly, and she slowly cracked open her eyes, already knowing it was early, too early. A warm weight was curled on her chest, soft breaths puffing gently against the crook of her neck.
Opening her eyes a little more, Raelle grinned down at the waves of dark hair caressing the underside of her jaw.
Scylla.
“Shut up, Abigail!”
“Because you were too dumb to see it, my cousin…”
“Shut up!” blue eyes turned white.
Abigail’s mouth twisted harshly, “Can’t handle the truth? Shitbird?”
“Scylla didn’t do this!” Raelle ground out, trying to breathe, trying to hold in the swirling power roiling like a hurricane in her belly, “The Spree didn’t do this.”
“It was their people. Their song.”
“No.”
“I trusted you.” Abigail grimaced, “I trusted you, and you killed my cousin.”
"So, you're the one my little cousin has been spending all her time with." Charvel held out the flask to Raelle.
The mutant cast a quick glance at Abigail who stood off to the side, face unreadable, "I guess so." She took the flask and knocked back a hearty swallow.
Abigail grinned as she watched her friend battle to not flinch at the harsh liquor.
Charvel smirked and took the flask back, "Come on, let's see how good of a dancer you are. Maybe you can get this one to lighten up a bit."
"Hey!" Abigail frowned but it melted away as Raelle shrugged and followed the older woman towards the music.
"Not sure that's possible, but I didn't think I could get her to smile, either."
"I smile."
"Only when you kick my ass." Raelle winked, "And I'd much rather dance than keep letting you knock me down."
"You don't let me do anything."
"Whatever you say, Abs."
“It was someone else, Abigail!”
“No, it wasn’t.” the princess turned away from her former friend, “You know who did this, Raelle. You’re either with us or against us. Make your choice.”
The room turned quiet.
Eerily silent.
The type of silence filled with ultimatums.
And broken alliances.
“I love her.” Raelle whispered.
Raelle shrugged, hands fiddling with the handle of her coffee mug, “She’s…I don’t know.”
Abigail’s eyebrow ticked up, “Wow. Sounds like a winner there, Rae.”
“Shhh.” Tally lightly slapped the royal’s shoulder, “I think she’s nice, Raelle. I like her.”
“I do, too, Tal.”
Abigail closed her eyes.
Took a breath.
“You weren't bad back there, Shitbird.” Abigail smiled, the pair walking away from the sparing room.
Raelle shot her a look, unable to not match her grin, “You know, if you keep calling me that, it won’t be special.” She leaned closer, “And I really want it to be special.”
And spoke. “You have a half hour to pack your bag and get out.”
Raelle deflated, “Abs.”
“Go. I’ll have a ship ready to take you back to the Cession.” Not Washington. Or Salem.
No matter how angry she was…she knew anywhere other than the Cession was a prison sentence, or worse, for the mutant.
The US government would go after Raelle the moment they knew she was within their grasp.
Her only chance would be to run in the only home she ever truly knew.
The only place outside of Wakanda that offered her a safe haven.
“You’re going to start a war with the wrong people.” Raelle whispered.
Abigail let the warning wash over her, “I’ll burn the entire world if I have to.” She stepped up to the table and laid a hand on a knife, “You once would have done the same. Your girlfriend still will.”
“Scylla isn’t part of this.”
Abigail didn’t say a word.
Words were useless now.
Raelle sighed and turned to go, but stopped, “I wish I could’ve saved Charvel. I do, Abigail. I’d give anything to be there when it happened. To heal her. But…Abs…I know Tally has told you what she’s seen. You’ll ruin Wakanda with this.”
“Don’t speak as if you’re one of us.” Abigail picked up the weapon, let the blade tilt and glint in the artificial light, “You’re not Wakandan.”
“And Scylla didn’t kill Charvel.”
The knife stilled.
“Going after the Spree will only get you killed.”
Abigail twisted the knife in her grip.
And stabbed it into the table.
“You don’t know me at all, Shitbird.” Power radiated from her, “The Black Panther doesn’t lose.”