Composure

Misjudged Trajectories

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.