Shuri sat in complete silence, sending everyone from the lab to leave her alone as she considered her next move. She didn't want to give this kind of news to her brother if he wasn't standing right in front of her, even though the idea frightened her just a little. She had never felt this amount of failure before; it was foreign and sickening in her stomach with each passing minute that she allowed it to torture her. Finally slamming down the scanner that got her into this problem in the first place, she stood and stormed out, making the decision to get in one final meal before T'Challa could get the chance to kill her over this.

~~~

And kill her, he just might. Once he was done with you, that is.

"You had no business pushing me aside, (Y/N)! That strike was meant for me, and I didn't need your help! I have a suit that could have deflected the bullet that's now lodged in your hand because you didn't stop to think!"

"You're...welcome," you groaned, your arm around his waist while he held you to him tightly to bring you to the jet. "I'm fine, T'Challa, it's nothing."

"Nothing?! No, you aren't allowed to make light of this, not when I am this angry. I don't think that I've felt rage like this since...since...I swear to Bast, I don't even know when!"

"Stop yelling at me."

"I will not!"

You tried to turn to give Steve a look of desperation so that he might help, but your friend already had his own plans in place, hurrying across the quieted battlefield to catch up with the two of you. Steve had a definite history where you and the King were concerned, and he took no pause in coming to your aid with the simplest glance his way. "T'Challa, let me take her to the jet. Maybe take a step away for a few minutes to catch your breath."

"I have her," he hissed back, throwing a cold stare in return. T'Challa's voice already carried a beautiful, deep bass, but when he was mad it became almost primal and unrecognizable to maybe even himself. "Once again, Captain, it is under your command that she's injured, and I cannot allow this to continue for one minute more. (Y/N), I'm taking you back to Wakanda. We can send for your belongings later."

"Now hold on just a damned minute," you snapped in reply before Steve could, pulling yourself from T'Challa's grip only to need the Captain to take his place as your knees wobbled from blood loss; shockingly, that was apparently the least of your problems. "I can't believe that this isn't the first time that I've had to say you don't have me. And I'm sorry, but I don't recall you asking if I wanted to move to Wakanda."

"You're correct, I didn't ask."

"(Y/N), let's get you sitting down," Steve urged quietly, but you could feel his anger building just by his hold on you. You had thought that the two men had worked out this part of their relationship around you, and that the overprotective and jealous tendencies had cooled, but you were very clearly in the wrong. "I think that his Highness and I need to have a few words in private."

"Like hell you do, Steve. You don't need to speak for me. I'm not that person anymore. I can handle this."

"Like you handled yourself today in battle?" T'Challa laughed sarcastically, the sound stabbing at your heart. "You came away injured, which you falsely shake away as insignificant when it could have easily been much worse. You have no idea of the risk you put yourself in, nor do you have any idea what the loss of you would mean to those of us around you who have to stand by and watch!"

"It was a reflex, T'Challa," you answered flatly in sharp contrast, "I put my hand out to push you aside and I misjudged the trajectory. It wasn't showing off, or thinking that you couldn't handle yourself...or...or...ugh, I'm getting lightheaded," you faded away just enough to send the men into a near-panic again. Steve hadn't yet convinced you to sit, so instead he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you to him.

"Move," he commanded T'Challa without a blink of hesitation, "I won't ask a second time. I think that's the line you pulled on me, right?"

The feral shift in Steve's demeanor set T'Challa back for the flash of a second before his attentions turned towards you again, as if the fight had been forgotten. He reached out a hesitant hand to rest over yours, but the Captain shifted his weight to turn you further away.

"Captain, please, Shuri can-"

"I know what Shuri can do. But we're not in Wakanda, now are we? Step back, sire," Steve snarled, "because this was my commitment to her long before you dug your claws in."

~~~

T'Challa wasn't used to this feeling, that of being overpowered so readily; it was so foreign to him, in fact, that he had to search himself and the shame swirling in his gut to even identify it. Steve had stood his ground, challenged him without question when your wellbeing took precedence, and he barely even fought back. He cowered away and allowed your friend to bring you to the jet, closing the door to take his last view of you with him without any guarantee that you would ever return. Steve had left T'Challa behind, not caring how he got himself back home. He understood, though; he had crossed a line with how he had spoken to you, so out of character that he barely recognized his own voice in the memory of it.

"What am I doing?" he sighed quietly to himself, dropping heavily to sit on the ground as he waited for Okoye to retrieve him. The dry dirt beneath him dusted up with his movements, creating a haze of filth over his normally immaculate Panther suit. He kicked at a few stray stones and pulled a few dying leaves from a nearby bush, trying to occupy his hands when he only wanted to punch something...or someone...so very badly.

"T'Challa? What happened?"

He looked up with a quick swipe of his still-covered hand over his eyes, hoping that she would think the moisture was merely to wash the dust away. When he turned to the voice that called to him, it wasn't the one he had expected. "Shuri? I thought Okoye was coming?"

"Yes, well...we changed our minds. It was a group decision."

"I wasn't aware that picking up a stray was such a point of contention. I'm house trained."

"Brother..." she whispered, and the rise of her nerves was visibly shifting by the second, and he nearly took on the emotions with her simply by proximity. "My brother, I've made a terrible mistake."

He took a few steps to her to close the space between them, removing his gloves to gently take her arms into his hold. He rarely saw his sister so shaken, and he was again as panicked and concerned as he had been just before you left with Steve. "Shuri...my beloved sister, whatever it is, we can repair it. You've never made a mistake that we haven't been able to-"

"(Y/N)...it's about (Y/N)."

"What about her?" he straightened, his posture shifting to both protective and uncertain in a strange juxtaposition and contortion of emotion. It felt as if it didn't bode well for his confidence that you had just left his sight. "Tell me."

"I was so wrong, and T'Challa, I have never been sorrier with news that should be joyous," she insisted, "but (Y/N) is pregnant."

~~~

You hadn't fought Steve when he brought you onto the jet; being in his arms and held so securely made it difficult to do so even if you had wanted to. Admittedly, it was a relief for him to take the argument with T'Challa away from you, your energy draining fast. As you rested on the gurney next to Steve, surrounded by the sterility and boredom of the emergency room, you began to feel as if your energy was leaving you faster that it normally would after a difficult mission. They always left you exhausted, certainly, but you had never felt so utterly weak and barely unable to keep your eyes open.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Hmm?" you mumbled, forcing your lids to rise. "Yeah, I'm just really tired."

Steve gently took your injured hand in his and slowly pulled the dressing away that he had put on only a short time before, taking care to not move too suddenly. "The bleeding stopped."

"I don't think it's that," you argued with a long yawn, "I didn't lose that much blood at all. I've lost way more than that before and never felt so wrecked."

"Maybe it's still that stomach thing you caught. It's only been a couple of days and you haven't had much time to rest since we got back to Wakanda."

"Yeah, maybe." You smiled weakly and patted his cheek with your uninjured hand, closing your eyes and pushing against the pillow to catch a few moments of sleep before the agony of repairing the damage done on this mission. It was barely a full minute before you were jostled from your fatigued haze, hearing Steve stand up next to you as the doctor came into the room. "Time to go?" you asked expectantly, but he shook his head in declination.

"(Y/N), I think I prefer to do the repair with local anesthetic. I can numb the area pretty well without having to fully put you into sleep. It might be a little more uncomfortable, but it's worth sparing you the risk if we don't have to use such heavy medications."

Steve's senses were immediately on alert, as were yours; he had the benefit of having the strength to carry it for both of you, turning to the doctor while keeping a hold of your hand. "Risk? What risk? I thought you said this would be a quick fix and we'd be gone in a few hours? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. It's just best to take all the precautions we can in this situation, especially at such an early stage."

"Okay, you've totally lost me," Steve continued, only now, he had taken a seat at your side on the edge of your gurney, his worry practically seeping through his skin and into yours as his palms became a little clammy. You wanted to let go at the sensation, but he seemed to need the support too. The doctor looked at him and then to you, his own awareness finding him with a quiet gasp and a hesitant smile.

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Congratulations to you both, (Y/N), you're pregnant!"