Composure

Mistakes

By some miracle, or perhaps truly by the promise of T'Challa's mother, you were feeling back to your usual self by the next morning; in fact, you hadn't felt this well and energized in as far back as you could remember. You could only just vaguely remember falling asleep as you sat in the hallway with Steve, now starting to wonder exactly what was in the soup that Ramonda had made for you. You had woken up in your bed, but you couldn't remember the first thing about how you had gotten there. When the sunlight of the new day began to peek through the heavy curtains over the window, you gave in to the realization that you would have to start the day as well, pushing yourself up to sit with a small worry about your stomach acting up again; you smiled to yourself in surprise and relief when you didn't feel anything amiss.

After a long and relaxing shower, you dressed and readied yourself to leave the room, and to tackle another day in T'Challa's home. It was frustrating to have been together with him for so long now and with no sign of his people beginning to accept it. You were an outsider, and you always would be. It wasn't everyone who felt this way, with many finding resolution with it, but it was enough of them to make their sentiment unable to go unnoticed; you tried your best to cover your worry and apprehensions when T'Challa was with you, but you knew that your acting wasn't enough to fool him for long.

A loud buzz from your phone startled you from your thoughts, leaving you to pause before you could make your way out, trying to answer the question Steve had just sent.

I'm leaving on the mission in fifteen minutes and I'd like you to join. You in?

I thought you didn't need me. You said you were just dropping me off on the way by.

Changed my mind.

You sighed heavily, knowing that Steve wouldn't ask you to take time away from your visit with T'Challa unless he really needed your help. But you really wanted to get every minute here that you could, at least that was true until you felt the stare of one of his servants as they dropped off your breakfast tray without so much as the courtesy of greeting you on the way in and out of your room.

I'll have to ask T'Challa.

He's coming along, if that helps.

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" you muttered under your breath as you typed in your answer, agreeing to go as soon as you saw his name on the screen. Hurrying to pack a bag of gear, you grabbed your boots and ran to the door, only to feel the raging churn of an empty stomach stop you in your tracks. Filling your other hand with a piece of fruit and a pastry that you couldn't say no to, you made your way to the hangar and the one place in Wakanda that you felt comfortable; on the quinjet and seated at T'Challa's side.

"Hello, my love, are you feeling better today?" he purred with a nuzzle of his nose into your neck and a gentle kiss, leaving you unable to give him the reprieve of skipping the joke.

"Hello, kitten."

"Really?" he snickered with a shake of his head as he pulled away, the moment made worse by Steve's uncontained laughter from the pilot seat. "I thought we had grown beyond that, (Y/N)."

"I'm never beyond a good cat joke, T'Challa, I'm sorry. Love me, love my terrible sense of humor."

"Well, if I must," he sighed, "I will love you despite your lack of sense."

"Be careful there, Your Highness," Steve joined in, "her lack of sense includes being in a relationship with you."

Letting out a loud, painful groan, you lowered your head into your hands, both to mourn his choice of levity, and to mourn what would soon be the loss of your closest friend. "Oh, Steve, no. Why would you do that?"