Driven Mad (Book 1 in the MAD Series)(An Avengers Fan Fiction)

T'Challa

T'Challa sat down on the bed beside his wife, who he had forced into bed after she threw up on their Avengers-Hunting spree. Ororo stared up at him with an annoyed glare. It was obvious she didn't want to be there, but T'Challa wasn't going to let her out. She was sick. She wasn't going anywhere. T'Challa ran his fingers over her forehead, hoping to make her happy.

T'Challa had hated to leave his team to Clint and Natasha, but he didn't want to leave Ororo alone. He loved his wife too much let her stay there alone, and he certainly wasn't letting her go with them if she was sick. T'Challa hadn't been able to get anything done, which irked him. He wanted to be of more help to them. He wanted only to be an Avenger and fulfill all his duties. But his wife came first. Ororo came before everyone else in the world to him. She meant more to him than anybody in the world. She was his world.

T'Challa replayed their wedding in his mind as he stared into her gorgeous brown eyes. He smiled and hoped that he could make her stop being mad. And for just a second, he saw her annoyed grimace turn into a smile, but then it turned back to her original grimace. He gave her a fake pout, hoping she would see that he only wanted to protect her. He only wanted the best for her. But she obviously wasn't seeing his side of the story.

Ororo glared up at him with the thermometer hanging out of her mouth. T'Challa had forced it into her mouth, not without an argument. But T'Challa had finally convinced her to let him evaluate her. After a couple of seconds, the thermometer beeped and T'Challa pulled it out of her mouth. 98.6. It was normal. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering what was wrong with his wife. He sat it down on the table.

"It's normal." T'Challa informed.

"Can we go now? I told you, I am fine." Ororo whined.

"No. People don't just vomit for no reason. You need to rest."

"I'm fine. I had a bit of nausea and then I was fine."

"Just go to sleep, Ororo."

"But I'm not tired."

T'Challa gave her a look when she objected. She rolled her eyes and turned onto her side, looking up at T'Challa with her brown eyes. He stroked her hair, hoping to put her to sleep. She looked up at him, her eyes drooping, obviously exhausted. She let out a loud, overly-dramatic yawn. "Sing to me?" Ororo pleaded.

"Will you go to sleep?" T'Challa asked.

"Yes..."

"Okay then. I will."

T'Challa smiled and tried to think of a song. She waited for him to sing with her expectant eyes. He slid closer to his wife, trying to come up with a song. He finally got one and smiled. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and began his song. It was always Ororo's favorite. So he decided that would be the best song to sing to her to send her to her sleep.

"Slow down.

We've got time left to be lazy

All the kids have bloomed from babies

Into flowers in our eyes

We've got fifty good years

Left to spend out in the garden

I don't care to beg your pardon

We should live until we die.

We were barely eighteen

When we crossed collective hearts

It was cold but it got warm

When you barely crossed my eye

Then you turned put out your hand

Then you asked me to dance

I knew nothing of romance