Killmonger's One-Shot Collection

Kwelanga of Days

Notes: Erik is old. Alzheimer's warning.
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“Aye them tig ol’ bitties sitting right, babygirl. What you.. You need a sugar daddy? Cuz my pipe still work thanks to that royal health insurance.” Erik spit his game at the pretty lady sitting in front of him with deep brown skin and short coils. The corner of her red lips twisted up and he wanted her to drop that mouse in her hand to look at him with them pretty eyes, but she kept them on the computer screen.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Udaku, but I’m just here to make sure you’re in good health,” she stated, professional voice thick.

“Damn. Break my heart.” She took the blood pressure monitor off of his arm and he noticed how small he’d gotten. Maybe that had something to do with him getting swerved so easily. His arms, legs, and entire body had shrunk, the bulk gone. Luckily the definition of his arms and calves were still there. Lifting his shirt, he glad to find that his abs were still somewhat defined.

“Mr. Udaku, you look fine. For a man of your age actually, you look amazing,” the nurse spoke without looking up. Did she have psychic abilities?

“Man my age,” he mulled over in his mind, thoughts of his time as a navy seal bubbling up. He could remember training hard and spending hours working out. He remembered the feel of cold steel in his hand going hot, targets falling to their knees. He remembered challenging for the throne once he’d made it to Wakanda, throwing his annoying cousin off of a cliff. “My age.. what’s my age,” he questioned, surprised he could forget something like that.

“You are 93. How old do you feel?”

“Shit… I don’t know. How the fuck I get 93?”

“You aged, N'Jadaka,” she chuckled. “We all do it. We never stop.” After a glance at his sullen face, she continued. “You are blessed to see 93, and blessed to not look a day over 50.” Her eyes went to his still smooth and elastic skin and full hairline. When that didn’t seem to cheer him up, she lowered her voice. “If it makes you feel any better, I am 42.” His eyes appraised her form. She looked to be in her early thirties. It did make him feel a bit better.

“I’ll get you out of here so you can have breakfast,” she smiled warmly, but another worrisome thought came to his mind.

“Hey, uh.. can I ask you something?” She nodded and he braced himself to continue. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

“Hmm. We can have this conversation as often as you need, but to answer your question.. often.” He was afraid of that answer. He honestly didn’t remember any of it.

“Yo if I’m 93, that nigga Challa.. wait is his old ass still king?” He chuckled at the thought of an ancient T'Challa trying to fight someone in a panther suit. He’d probably bust his ass and crack a hip. The fallen face of the pretty girl alerted him that something bad had happened and now he had to know. His intense stare implored her to speak up. It took a while, but she finally faced him, staring back and grabbing his hand. Nah, it couldn’t be. She was bullshitting.

“King T'Challa died after an intense battle almost thirty years ago,” she spoke quietly. No, he thought grabbing his grey locs. It made sense with that nigga, but still. Thirty years? Where had he been? What about Wakandan technology? Suddenly he remembered. He got the news when T'Challa couldn’t be revived. T'Challa himself had determined it was time for him to move on to the ancestral plane and Shuri took his place serving as Wakanda’s new queen. Pinching his nasal bridge and willing himself to stay calm, he posed his next question.