Attending Doom’s party with T’Challa was certainly a means to grab attention. The King of Wakanda was well known and warmly accepted by the majority of New Yorkers and there was no shortage of gazes as they entered, her hand clutching T’Challa’s tightly. Ororo wasn’t remotely bothered by it, she had grown accustomed to being ogled at years ago during the days where villagers had revered her as a Goddess. Smiling faintly, she leaned towards T’Challa and quietly said, “I believe we’re attracting some attention. Have I mentioned how handsome you look?” As she spoke, she lead him towards the edge of the party, away from the noise and some larger groups of people. Although she had never minded attention, Ororo did prefer to have T’Challa focused on her, and it was nothing that she bothered hiding.

Once they arrived in a corner, she stepped closer to T’Challa and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Were you aware that Doom was throwing a celebration for resources? I find it slightly hypocritical, this certainly used what we found up quickly, but I suppose the President wants to celebrate his people.” As a ruler, T’Challa would have far more insight into the situation than Ororo did. “Difficult topics aside, I am pleased that you asked me to be your date. It’s about time, isn’t it?”

The transition from Earth to the mysterious planet they were on hadn’t been easy for Ororo. Deeply attune with the rhythm of Earth, the isolation was difficult to adjust to. She could no longer feel the swell of the ocean, warning her of a tsunami or earthquake, and she could no longer fill barren wastelands with life, using rain to her advantage, careful not to completely leave her beloved planet off balance. They weren’t issues she spoke about openly, knowing that the X-Men would worry, and that her friends would jump to the most dramatic possible conclusion. Instead, Ororo attempted to understand the new planet that she was on. After hours spent meditating, she still didn’t entirely understand the thrum below the ground, and the way the wind furiously blew only in specific areas. She couldn’t fathom why suddenly, water was rising across the planet, furious and splashing.

Distressed, she could feel raindrops landing on her skin at a rapidly increasing pace, warning Ororo that her emotions were quickly growing unchecked during her mediations. It was the time that months ago, she would feel most at peace, but confused and feeling isolated, mediation was when her powers rose, following her emotions. Rather than confide in the Professor or Jean, Ororo ended up on T’Challa’s doorstep, knowing that if anyone would listen to her rather than attempt to solve her problems, it would be the King of Wakanda. Considering his title and overall job description, Ororo did not miss the irony in that. “Hello,” she greeted T’Challa after he opened the door. “Mind if I come in? I was hoping I could speak to you about something.” After a pause, she held up two cups, adding, “I brought lattes. Do you like lattes?” On Wakanda, they would be drinking something very different and much more traditional.

The Wakandan embassy had quickly become one of the few places Ororo spent time outside of Xavier’s halls. That was largely due to T’Challa’s presence there, and that was not something that Ororo would deny. The time she spent with T’Challa was infinitely valuable, one of the few things that made their isolation livable, and Ororo did not intend to take it for granted. Inevitably, they would be separated once more, drawn into vastly different worlds. T’Challa was the King of Wakanda while Ororo was one of the oldest and most experienced X-Men, a hero in every sense, and more importantly, a teacher of young mutants. She couldn’t abandon that position, nor could she abandon the people she had vowed to keep safe from Earth’s vicious elements. Their responsibilities did not coincide, but that didn’t change how much Ororo wanted to be around T’Challa, though she valiantly fought the impulse.

As she flew above the Wakandan embassy, prepared to surprise T’Challa, she noticed men lurking outside the building. They had similar tattoos to the ones that she had seen in Wakanda, markings that she couldn’t remember the exact meaning of, and immediately, she was concerned. Landing lightly on T’Challa’s rooftop, she let herself inside, careful not to draw the mysterious men’s attention. If they were searching for T’Challa with benevolent intentions, they would shamelessly enter the building through the front door. Pausing only briefly to greet the receptionist, Ororo let herself into T’Challa’s office and quietly said, “There are strange men lurking outside your building. I didn’t want to engage in case they’re people you’re familiar with.”

As Ororo promised, she had prepared a traditional dinner for T’Challa. She had never learned to cook in Egypt or Africa, primarily relying on whatever source of food that she could scavenge (or that was cooked for her with tenderness from villagers who believed her a deity), but later, in America, she had learned to prepare the dishes she was familiar with. It was an effective cure for homesickness, and while it was different from Wakandan fair, there was no doubt in Ororo’s mind that T’Challa would love whatever she chose to make for him. He was undeniably biased, though under these circumstances, Ororo quite enjoyed the fact that T’Challa would love anything and everything she made for him… or at least pretend to.

With the dining room set up to the best of her ability, with candles lit and the aroma of her cooking filling the room, Ororo was satisfied with the presentation. It was nothing near as extravagant as what a king would inevitably grow accustomed to, but their relationship was much deeper than appearances and first impressions. “I thought that a dinner alone would be much more enjoyable than being surrounded with New York’s most recent drama,” Ororo said in lieu of greeting. She pulled T’Challa in for a tight embrace, no longer bothering to convince herself that their relationship was purely platonic. “And this way we have each other’s undivided attention,” she added with a smile.

T’Challa had always been a complicated presence in Ororo’s life, but truthfully, she had no desire to imagine life without him. Some of her happiest memories were sat besides T’Challa in Wakanda, claiming that the mutant she was working alongside was not yet ready to train on their own. He had deserted her a long time ago, and while Ororo was still unsure why T’Challa had suddenly departed, forgiveness was easy to offer. He was a wise man, he surely had his reasons, and if T’Challa did not, he had bene young and foolish, unaware what he was truly missing out on. Ororo liked to believe that had changed, and it was evidenced by the fact that the King of Wakanda contentedly invited her to his home land. The second news broke out that New York City was no longer on Earth, Ororo had immediately worried about T’Challa and his response to the news. Wakanda was what he loved most in the world, rightfully so, and being separated from his country in such a forceful way was surely wearing on him. Due to the complexity of their relationship, which could truly only be defined as on and off, Ororo elected to invite him to ‘inquire’ about the demons rather than suddenly arrive at his home to ask, and being alone in private with T’Challa was always tempting.

Arriving at their designated meeting spot outside Xavier’s Mansion, Ororo smiled the second that she saw T’Challa standing there. “It’s good to see you,” she said quietly. Seeing T’Challa could turn her day around immediately, she would never deny him that. “I pity whatever demons challenge us tonight. I haven’t fought many, they seem to be avoiding the school.” Whoever lead them was smart to do so, the X-Men did not take kindly to intruders of ill intention. “How are you handling the news that we’re… away from Earth?” She asked gently, walking towards the city centre.