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Shuri sits on the log until the sun sets; longer. The fire dies away, and the sky falls dark. Most of the cotton has blackened and turned to dust, indistinguishable from the ash around it, but there’s still a spot of pure white that didn’t get caught. It didn’t seem right to touch the robes after they were alight - and now they’ll never be burned, not all the way.
“Hey,” Nakia’s voice calls softly. Shuri suddenly becomes very aware of how she’s sitting, hunched and clumsy, hands clutching at her bare legs. She’s shivering - she just noticed. She doesn’t move, her limbs stiff as ice, but Nakia comes behind her anyway. The warm weight of a blanket drops around her shoulders, and the log creaks as Nakia perches next to her. And so her body drops, safe; her head lands on Nakia’s shoulder, cushioned with its own blanket.
“Toussaint,” she suddenly realises.
Nakia laughs, but not too much, not enough to jostle Shuri off her shoulder. “He's inside,” she smiles. “He can watch himself for a moment.”
“Well, I don’t know how kids work!” Shuri says. “They’re fragile!”
Nakia laughs again. “It's almost his bedtime, but I have a bit of time for you.”
Shuri sighs, and tries to untangle her emotions. Mostly, all she can feel is the cold. “No, it's okay,” she says. “Go and put him to bed.” Nakia nods, and rises, but then Shuri blurts: “Where will I sleep?”
Nakia pauses. “The sofa is comfortable, but.” And then she pulls Shuri into another hug, tight and warm, and Shuri clutches her back. “Perhaps you'd be happier sharing my bed?”
Shuri laugh-sobs and nods, against the fabric of Nakia's dress. She’s getting it wet.
*
Shuri’s trying to time her breaths to the breaking of the waves when Nakia pokes her head around the back door again. “Come on,” she calls. “Let me get something warm in you.” She holds her hands up like to wrap her arms around her, and Shuri is helpless but to trudge back up the beach and let Nakia steer her inside. “Here,” she says, and the kitchen smells like a warm hug, of cinnamon and anise. “Akasan. Normally it's breakfast, but- I figure you need something to fill you up.”
Shuri nods gratefully, clutching the mug with freezing fingers. She sips, and it tastes good - thick and creamy. Nakia picks up her own mug in one hand, and wipes down the tile countertop with the other, so Shuri doesn't feel quite so picked-on. She wipes her top lip with the back of her hand, in case it’s given her a milk moustache. “What- what was it like?” she asks, curiously. “Being alive when everyone was blipped?”
Nakia huffs through her nose, and steels herself against the countertop. “Lonely,” she takes a sip. “But there was plenty to do, plenty who needed helping. And my real job: to carry Toussaint, and deliver him, and raise him, as best I could. So mostly I tried to forget about it.”
“Forget about your grief, hm?” Shuri smiles, wonkily. “Did you find that that works for you?”
Nakia laughs, and traces a finger around the top of her mug. “Absolutely not.”
*
Under Nakia’s covers, they face each other like a pair of closed brackets. Shuri breathes into the dark what she couldn't bear saying in the light. “So: my brother told you that he was dying.”
Nakia bites her lip. The edge of her face is just barely lit from where the lamplight from the courtyard sneaks under the blinds. “Yes,” she says. The ceiling fan whirs above them. “He saw the elders, the real healers, and they saw that he was dying. He knew that you wouldn't be able to save him, Shuri. And he knew you wouldn't believe their visions, and you'd try to save him anyway, and that you'd put all that responsibility on yourself, and then…”
Shuri gasps with a sob. If only- if only- if he had the tiniest inkling that visions can't always come true - then he wouldn't be dead. It’s all stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Nakia pats Shuri's hair, as she cries - one hand tangling in, the other warm against the back of her skull where it’s undercut. “You have to respect his decision,” Nakia murmurs.
“He left me alone!” she weeps.
“You're not alone, Shuri,” Nakia soothes. “You have me. You have Okoye, and Ayo, and Aneka. You have your country. You have Miss Williams. She seems to really respect you,” she smiles, slyly, in that playful way, to mean - hey, she was flirting with you.
But Shuri just wants to scream. It's not Riri whose bed she's in right now. It's not Riri whose arms are wrapped around her. Shuri buries her head against Nakia's breastbone, against the smooth skin revealed by the low neckline of her tank top. It’s a little cold, with sweat.
Nakia just shushes her, and strokes her head.
Shuri desperately presses her lips to Nakia’s cool skin - kisses her, against the roaring in her own head, all across her chest and up her neck - Nakia’s hand falls to Shuri’s cheek, and she keens into it - places open-mouthed kisses on her chin - perches above Nakia’s lips-
Nakia pushes her face back, by the hand on her cheek. Smoothes her thumb across Shuri’s cheekbone. Shakes her head, with a small smile. “Shuri, you are grieving.”
“I'm not a child,” Shuri snaps.
“I don't think that you are,” Nakia murmurs, and Shuri collapses from the weight of holding herself up over her. She hides her face against Nakia’s collarbone. “You're an incredible woman,” Nakia breathes against Shuri’s skull. “You saved all of our lives - not just by being strong, but by being smart. By tempering your anger when you needed to. I don't know if I could have done the same. You will be an incredible leader. Come on, turn around.”
Shuri listlessly twists onto her side, back to Nakia, away into the cool sheets. But Nakia wraps her arms around her again - presses herself against Shuri’s back, wraps their legs up together. All the parts of their bodies are touching.
“You will need to return to Wakanda,” Nakia whispers, ruefully. “Not now, but - soon.”
Shuri takes a deep breath. Holds it. “Will you come?”
“One day, little T'Challa will need to see his homeland.”
“One day,” Shuri repeats, well aware of how pathetic she must sound.