Beep, beep.

Beep, beep.

"Scalpel."

Beep, beep.

"Clamp this artery down here, nurse."

Beep, beep.

"Clamping artery, beginning line work."

Beep, beep.

Beep, beep.

"Scissors."

Beep, beep.

"Suction."

"Insert tubing here."

Beep, beep.

"Inserting."

Beep, beep.

"Suture around this opening here, before we move to her abdomen."

Beep, beep.

"Suturing."

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

"Nurse."

"BP is falling!"

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

"Not again—"

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

"Quickly, on my left!"

"Clear!"

My stomach roiled once again as the flatline tone permeated my ears.

"Flatlining, doctor!"

"Again!"

"Clear!"

Nothing. I white-knuckled the counter in front of me, my breaths picked up in rapid pace.

"Stay with us, Jennifer."

"Again!"

"Clear!"

Come on Jaige, please—don't do this. Don't do this to me.

"Ma'am?"

"Wait."

It took everything in me not to fall to my knees. Please, God, if you're up there—

Beep, beep.

A crashing wave of relief threatened the threadbare resolve keeping me upright.

Beep, beep.

"She has stabilized. Proceed, doctor."

In the expedited hours it took to fly from Sokovia to Wakanda, Jaige had dropped in and out of consciousness throughout the agonizing journey. The Wakandan airship had been startlingly equipped, much like a minor surgical suite. Various wires and instruments were immediately placed on her body, monitoring vital signs and levels I couldn't understand if I tried. There was no question, however—I'd forever be grateful.

They caught every instance she died.

Her heart gave out multiple times during the trip, and each time I swear I died with her. I longed for her to open her beautiful green eyes, even once. Bat those ridiculous eyelashes, tease me for being so worked up and worried. But her eyelids barely moved except in distress, and every time we thought she'd stay stabilized was the moment the monotone sounded, my panic and bile rising uncontrollably. 

For each debilitating instance, life-saving measures were administered, a combined effort of Wakandan technological marvel and pure desperation from myself, Steve, or Natasha. The emotional turmoil was plain as day as we'd touched down. I didn't have to see their eyes to know they were as drained of color as mine.

Yet I never left her side, and I wasn't going to start now.

The hours came and went, as did the visitors. Tony, T'Challa, Shuri, Natasha—they seemed to cycle periodically, with a remarkably similar routine. Come in, see how I'm faring, ask after her and any updates, stay for an hour or so, then abandon her and I once again. Natasha was the only one who never pestered me with stupid questions, instead taking a stoic stance beside me for a length of time, hardly exchanging more than a few words. When she would eventually abandon me, too, I almost missed the company. Alone for a longer stint, I expected Steve to join me sooner, but regretted the thought as soon as his red rimmed eyes snuck in hours later.

"Buck, this isn't healthy," Steve grimaced. "She's been under for close to six hours."

I jumped at the sound of his voice. "Way to sneak up on a guy, Rogers."

"I mean it, Buck. After all the stress we've had over the last few days, weeks even—"

"I know you do." I remained perched outside the surgical suite window. Steve let out an exasperated sigh beside me. "Don't forget, I have been motionless gathering reconnaissance for longer than this—I can handle it."

"This is different, and you know it," he clipped.

I didn't have an answer for that, I couldn't even come up with a clever quip. I lost all semblance of anything other than her, the moment I had her back in my arms.

Evidently, I had no poker face for it.

"Steve, I won't..." I tapered off with a sigh.

Steve turned to face me, completely obscuring my view of her surgical suite. Before I could swing on him, he continued. "Buck, enough. You have to stop this, go sleep or eat something please—"

"You stop!" I startled myself with the volume that escaped me, each word punctuated with a jab of my finger. "You... Just stop, Steve. You don't get it. I lost her. She was gone for months. I caused her kidnapping and she was fucking tortured for months. Then, I get her back in a state close to death and..." I choke up for a second before the anger returns in full force. "She died—several fucking times, Rogers, in the span of a few hours. She survived hell on earth only to slip through my fingers on the cruelest plane ride of my life, several fucking times! And she's in there now, still fighting for her life. And you want me to take a fucking nap?"

The only thing that cools my boiling rage, if only momentarily, are the reddened lines flaring the whites of his eyes with something that looks like pity pooling in the corners.

"And I don't need that look from you, Steve. I don't need it." I cleared my throat, but the dismay in his eyes tells me I didn't hide the sob that cleared with it. "I failed her in every way imaginable. I'm staying right here, where I can maybe start to make amends, okay?"

Steve just stared at me, opening and closing his mouth, seemingly editing and reediting whatever he wanted to say, before pursing his lips, giving a slight shake of his head and landing on, "Okay."

I dragged my teeth against my bottom lip. "Steve, I—"

"I just can't watch you kill yourself," Steve interjected, turning on his heels and bursting through the doors.

As the door swung back inward, it wafted in a warm fragrance. The room immediately smelled of an herbal cacao scent.

"Captain?" T'Challa startled as Captain America breezed past him. With the accompaniment of swinging doors, I heard footsteps against the tile floor. He meandered into the suite, before standing at my side, facing the bustle of the medical team as I did.

"He won't come back." I stared straight ahead. "Not until he's cooled off."

"I do not think I have seen this side of him before," the king muttered. I glanced toward the king, startling only momentarily as he revealed an almost mischievous grin, lifting two glass cups of golden hued tea with steam emanating effortlessly from the rim.

I furrowed my brows. "I guess that's what brothers do... piss you off like nobody else," I gritted.

He lowered the glasses. T'Challa made a small noise of agreement, taking a sip from one cup. Several moments passed in silence, save for the monitors behind the glass of the suite before he spoke again. "Since you asked, it is a tea made from tiger eye, mocha nut mate and rooibos almond. The flavors blend that of almond, cacao, hazelnut, vanilla, and marigold flowers. And, just for myself, accented with blueberry." He exhaled lightly as he took another sip from the decadent beverage. "It was my father's favorite. Though I do believe I have improved it with blueberry, he did not agree."

It smelled heavenly, but I couldn't reach for the outstretched glass. T'Challa gave another attempt.

"It is unnerving for him, to be sure. To see you in this state."

I shook my head. "What do you mean?"

"If I may, James." He cleared his throat. "If you are brothers, as you say, do you not think your pain is his pain? That your anguish is not agonizing to him?"

It was my turn to make a noise of agreement, twisting my head to face away from the kingly philosopher. A shrewd chuckle burst from my lips was interrupted by a choked hiccup, burning in my eyes softened by the welling of inescapable tears. I inspired a shaky breath as I nodded once more.

"This surgical team is one of the best in the world. They will take care of her," he began. "But something tells me that the strength of this woman far exceeds the skill of these professionals."

I could not answer beyond a sniff and another nod. From my left, I heard the sigh of the king once more. I watched out of my peripheral as he set one cup of tea on the counter below the window. He turned to leave, but not before leaving me one last pearl of wisdom.

"It is alright to feel whatever you are feeling right now." T'Challa breathed. "I hope you will take care of yourself in the meantime—for Steve, for her, but most of all, for yourself."

Before I could turn to acknowledge him, the door swung shut with a soft click. I was alone once more. 

Eyeing the cup on the counter, I reached forward and slowly curled my fingers around it. Lifting it to my lips, I was immediately immersed in the comforting scent, sweet and earthy. I took a small sip and felt the warmth bloom from the inside out. The tension in my body seemed to melt away as the tea disappeared, slow and merciful.

"Sir?"

I jumped and spun towards the door. I couldn't believe I didn't hear the door open, unsure of how long I had been in quiet thought alone. The head of the surgical team stood at the door, peeling her gloves off. A small smile started from the corners of her mouth.

"Yes?" I whispered.

She took a deep breath. "We were successful. She is being transported to the recovery room."

All of the air in my lungs expired. Before the cup could fall and shatter to the ground, I managed to set it on the counter and brace with my other hand. "What?"

"Sir, she is stable and heading to the recovery ward." She cocked her head to the side, eyeing me. "Would you like to see her now?"

I furrowed my brow against the redness rising in my face, the sharp gasp erupting from my core betrayed the deep emotional pain. With tears uncontrollably streaming down my cheeks, I struggled to hold back the ensuing sobs. The lighting dimmed as the moment of vulnerability and grief was overcome with relief—liberated from the overwhelming sadness that had permeated this never ending surgery.

"Take me to her."