"Oh...we're not...together..." Steve blurted out first, pointing almost frantically between the two of you.

"He's not..." you agreed, but your voice lacked the energy and confidence of his and was buried beneath it. It was a combination of fatigue and pure shock that robbed you of the sound, leaving you staring at the doctor as you waited for the punchline. This had to be an ill-timed joke if there ever was one.

"Yeah...we're just friends..." Steve continued. He still had a hold on your hand, but he was in much of the same shock as you; he had no idea what to say or do to help you, so he was reduced to a bumbling mess instead. "I mean...I like her and all...but we never...she's not my type..."

"Steve, just shut up."

"Right. Sorry."

"Okay, so T'Challa can't find out," you warned, "not yet."

Your order was all it took to jostle your friend from his trance, bringing him to release your hand for the first time, and hurrying to his feet to give him some sense of control as he looked down at you. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Don't tell him, Steve. I know that you can't keep a secret to save your life, but I'm asking you to please try."

"He has the right to know that he's going to be a father, (Y/N)."

"Of course he does, Steve, don't be ridiculous. I just don't know how to do it, and I don't want him to find out from anyone but me. And..."

"And?" Steve asked cautiously, not really wanting to know, yet dreading the next words that he needed to hear.

"And I just...I need some time to think about this. I've never seen him like that, not with me. From day one, T'Challa has always been supportive of me becoming who I really am, and seeing more in me than I ever could. But now that I've done what he's wanted me to see, he fights it. He's trying to take control, after he tells me to stop allowing others to do it."

"I'm sure he was just worried, (Y/N)," Steve tried. "You were injured, and I'm sure it scared him." He almost couldn't believe his own voice, taking the side of the man he had doubted for so long when it came to being with you, and being the man he felt you deserved. Steve had come to accept T'Challa and how much he loved you, but the ever-present side of him that would never stop protecting you kept whispering in the back of his mind; maybe he had been right all along. "He was a little pushy if you ask me, but emotions were running pretty high."

"Um, excuse me," the doctor interrupted, "if we could? We need to do the repair before too much time passes."

"Sorry, of course," you jolted back into reality, "I'm ready." Shifting yourself on the gurney, you pushed back onto the pillows with a soft moan from both the stinging pain that continued in your hand, but also from the situation that you had never expected to find yourself in. At least you have Steve with you, you thought as you watched him shift around you without actually releasing your uninjured hand. He was such a good friend, always protecting you even when you didn't want him to, and you didn't have to ask once if he would be at your side through anything.

The sounds of medical tools bumping their metal into each other filled the silence that had fallen around you, and you could feel the nurses preparing your hand for the procedure to put it back together after you were dumb enough to get in the way, just as T'Challa had chastised you for. There was no reason for you to have pushed him out of the way of the bullet aimed for him, and all it did was leave you hurt and risking damage that could cost you your place on the team if they couldn't repair it.

"Oh, son of a bitch," you hissed between clenched teeth, trying to keep your eyes locked on Steve and not looking at the needle jamming into your skin. You squeezed his hand tighter with each poke, until he couldn't help but take the look you refused to allow. "Steve, don't-"

"Captain?"

"That's a big needle," he whispered, catching in his throat and barely audible. The color drained quickly from his face, and he began to wobble and waver with eyes swimming in his skull. "Big...needle..."

You quickly pulled your hand from his before he could take you to the floor with him, given that the impact wouldn't hurt him at all anyway. The thud of his body hitting actually vibrated through the floor, shaking the gurney beneath you. A nurse began to run around to help, but you stopped her before she got more than a few steps towards him, "he's okay, he's done this before. Let's just get done before he wakes up and does it again."

"So, it's safe to say that he won't be helping you when it's time to deliver?" the doctor snickered, but the snap of your head towards him and the cold glare that you served left him terrified, returning his focus to his work with a nervous clearing of his throat and not another word.

"Thanks, doc," you groaned, turning away, "you're a real help. I had almost forgotten about that."

~~~

T'Challa didn't fully lose his temper often. He took a great deal of pride in his calm, dignified demeanor even in the face of some of his most emotional, difficult situations. T'Chaka's death was one of those times, when he was filled with a blistering rage, but he believed that he held it together pretty well, overall. Except for the whole Bucky part of it and unyielding drive to murder him, he thought he did okay. That was a rage driven and directed by another, and he was merely a pawn in the game. But this? This was all on him, and the rage was his own. The rage was directed at himself, by himself, and he had no one else to blame for his state of mind.

He had been walking for hours, or maybe even days, he had no idea; the sun may have risen and set and risen again, but he paid it no attention. Without you at his side, the sun may as well not exist, because you were the only source of light in his life that allowed him to see. Without you, he was a blind man.

The Kimoyo beads around his left wrist began to chime with a call that he tried to ignore, but the sound was incessant and grew louder with each tone. The worst case could be that it was Shuri, calling him to apologize again when he had given her his word that there was no need, but when he raised his arm to accept the call, he realized that there was one person who could be harder to face. One person who wouldn't sugarcoat this, and would hit him with truths that he didn't want to hear.

"M'Baku," he greeted hesitantly as the man's image appeared, "how can I be of service to you?"

"I was to ask the same of you. Have you found your way into my mountains purposefully, or are you lost again?"

"I am not lost, I am walking to clear my thoughts."

"You're quite far from home. I had no idea you had so many thoughts as to take this long."

"Stop it. You have no idea of the difficulties that are plaguing me. But don't worry, I'll turn around and return to my home immediately. Thank you for the steps that I've taken into yours. Sala kahle, M'Baku."

"Wait," M'Baku quickly interrupted, sensing a heavy pain in his voice and changing his own tone, "no, T'Challa, I apologize. Perhaps...might I be of service to you?"

"No, friend, this is a path that I must walk alone," T'Challa sighed, finding himself thankful for the respite from his own mind that the conversation brought. This friendship may have been tenuous and quite new, but it was a friendship nonetheless and he would use it with care. "My love...my..."

"(Y/N)? Is something wrong? Is she well?"

"Hmm...well. Yes, she is...she is well."

"I find difficulty in believing you."

"She..." T'Challa paused with a solemn shake of his head, "she carries my child, but she's left me."

"What did you do to make her leave?"

For the first time, the King could feel a laugh building in his chest, but he dared not release it, as this was no time for humor. "Your first instinct is to assign blame, and to me, without regard that it might be her?"

"It's you, T'Challa. And I like (Y/N) much more."

"Yes, M'Baku...it's me. I was an idiot, and I've driven her away. With every fiber of my being, I fear that I have pushed her beyond my reach. She was acting of her own mind, protecting me in battle out of love and I rejected her. I chastised her for loving me enough to risk herself, and I don't know how to right my wrong."

"If you are about to share a child together, there must be some way to repair this."

"She doesn't know that I know. I'm not sure if she even knows yet."

"Hmm," M'Baku paused, bringing a hand to his chin in thought, "so where is she now? Do you know that much?"

"She is with Steve Rogers," T'Challa hissed, "and she refuses to answer my calls. As does he."

"Because she knows you in ways that you don't know yourself, friend. She knows that to challenge you will bring you to where you are right now. A place to find your truth. By refusing your call, and forcing you into silence, she forces you to speak to yourself before you say something irrevocably stupid to her. Which you would."

"I'm beginning to rethink our truce."

M'Baku's laugh was boisterous and strong, so loud even in the transmission that it filled the mountain valley where T'Challa now stood. "Not the first time, and perhaps not the last," he smiled, "but before you think any further, let me say this. If (Y/N) carries your child, a future king or queen of this country, then you know as well as I that she has become a valuable target for those who would do us harm. She has also become the most protected member of our nation. In the interests of not only her personal safety, or in the interests of your broken heart, you must repair the damage you have done, T'Challa. This is your country's future, and as King, you must not allow anything, or anyone, to keep you from bringing her back."