Siberia

Spring 2016

It was over.

And the only thing that kept Steve going was his focus on getting Bucky back to the Quinjet. On getting them out of there.

He simply couldn't think about anything else. Not yet.

Otherwise he risked breaking down, himself.

He couldn't do that.

He didn't even have the words to describe just how badly things had gone. He could hardly imagine that it could've been any worse.

Well, one of his friends could be dead, now, the pragmatic side of him considered wearily. He had at least managed to prevent that.

But it honestly felt a small accomplishment.

Especially given the toll the fight had taken. From all of them.

It left him feeling hollow. Hollow, drained and heartsick.

Something in Tony had snapped the moment he'd realized not only had his parents been coldly murdered, but that it was Bucky who had done it.

And that Steve had known about it.

He'd been relentless. Remorseless. Completely single-minded in exacting vengeance on the man he perceived as responsible for killing Howard and Maria. Nothing Steve had said, nothing he had done had gotten through to him. He'd been lost to his grief and rage.

Lost to the drive to try and ease the pain finally learning the truth had brought crashing down on him.

It was a pain Steve could sympathize with. It had crushed in on him too, leaving it hard to breathe around the weight of it. Howard had been his friend, one of the few who'd seemed able to look past 'The Captain' to see him as just 'Steve'. It had gutted him to find out that Howard had been murdered from Zola. And to now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Bucky had been the one to carry it out? To watch it happen and be helpless to stop it?

Steve didn't even have the words.

He couldn't even fathom how exponentially worse it must've been for Tony.

Steve might have never known his own father, but his mother had been his world. She was the only family he'd ever known. She'd been all he'd ever had aside from Bucky. When she had died...it had devastated him. And he'd been left completely alone.

Save for Bucky. If it hadn't been for Bucky? He wasn't sure how he'd have gotten through it.

But Steve's mom had been stolen from him by a disease. By pure, blind chance. And that had been hard enough.

Maria had been ripped from Tony. Murdered on the whims of evil men.

Steve couldn't even fathom the anguish gripping his friend.

And while he knew Tony hadn't been on the best terms with Howard, he could easily believe that made the pain all the worse as he also suspected that was one of Tony's deepest held regrets. And Tony's mother... The way Tony had spoken of her on the rare occasions she'd come up? What he'd said down in the bowels of the base—I don't care...he killed my mom—the way his voice had threatened to break, the hollow, grief-stricken cast to it that overwhelmed even Tony's rage?

It left Steve with no doubt that Maria had been Tony's world just as Sarah had been Steve's.

So as much as Steve had desperately tried to get through to his friend, hoping that he might be able to get Tony to pause long enough to think rationally?

He had a feeling that, had he been in Tony's shoes?

He wouldn't have been much better off.

Oh, he liked to think that he would be able to rise above his desire for vengeance. That he possessed enough self-control, enough self-discipline to force himself to take a step back, to keep his emotions from taking over. To see the big picture. To let the soldier in him take over and hold the grieving, revenge-driven son at bay. But Steve was also self-aware enough to admit that even the very idea of someone hurting his mother was enough to make his blood boil.

He couldn't fathom what he would've done had someone killed her in cold blood.

So for all that Steve had hoped Tony might be able to look past his pain to see the bigger picture—that his reaction was precisely what Zemo wanted, that Tony was playing into his manipulations; that Bucky had been no more than the weapon used by other, more guilty men to kill Howard and Maria—he couldn't exactly blame Tony for his reaction.

Not when, like Steve and his mom, Tony's mother had been one of the only real people he'd truly had in his corner. Who truly loved him for him. One of the only people he'd truly cared about.

Steve grit his teeth, forcing in a deep, bolstering breath. He needed to stop. He had a job to do. He needed to focus.

Dwelling and rationalizing wouldn't change what had happened. It certainly wasn't doing much toward easing the ache in his chest. Not enough, at least.

As much as it had hurt to fight against Tony, to leave him, his suit damaged—though not critically disabled, he fought to appease the guilt-stricken throb of his conscience—he'd been left with little choice. Because as much as Steve might understand and sympathize with what Tony felt, with his soul-deep desire to avenge his parents' deaths, there was absolutely no way in hell that he was going to let Bucky pay the price to appease Tony's desire for vengeance.

Bucky didn't deserve that.

So Steve had done everything in his power to keep his two friends apart. To hold Tony back.

To keep him from killing Bucky.

Just as Steve had seen how deeply the evidence of Howard's murder had rocked Tony, there had been no doubt it had shaken Bucky, too. There had been no hiding the haunted, tortured shadows of guilt and remorse in his eyes. Not from someone who knew him as well as Steve did.

Howard had been Bucky's friend too.

If it hurt to try and put himself in Tony's shoes, he couldn't even fathom how he'd feel in Bucky's.

There was no possible way he could even imagine it. No experience in his own past came anywhere close. Not even being forced to watch as someone he cared about was killed before his eyes.

Because being a helpless spectator was only part of it.

Bucky had been forced to watch himself carry out the deed, not even aware of what he was doing, of who had been at his mercy. And there was no question that that was infinitely worse.

It left Steve feeling sick and drained and empty to even try and imagine.

No, the only person more a victim in this whole thing than Tony or even Howard and Maria was Bucky. He'd been forced to murder his friend and had been powerless to stop himself. There was nothing that could compare to that. Not knowing his oldest friend as Steve did.

It was no wonder Bucky believed himself unworthy of even a measure of absolution for the things he'd done as the Winter Soldier.

He fought not to look at Bucky. He was already painfully aware of the state the fight had left his oldest friend in, so he didn't need to. He'd gotten more than a good enough look as he'd all but hauled Bucky to his feet after ensuring the fight had drained out of Tony. He'd seen the abuse Tony had inflicted in his attempts to kill him—not stop, kill.

Steve had seen the almost bewildered look on his face when Bucky had looked to the ragged stump that had once been his cybernetic arm.

The moment Bucky had realized what had just happened.

It had been that moment that had seen Steve snap, his own temper and his own single-minded drive to protect the friend that had always protected him surged forward.

It had all come crashing in on him at that moment—the weight of the last few weeks, of what he had just learned, of the pain and anger and grief, all of it pressing unrelenting against his heart and tearing at his soul—and he'd just acted, instinct taking over in the face of his own almost mindless need to protect Bucky.

The instant Tony had hit Bucky in the back with that final burst from his palm repulsor, tumbling Bucky across the concrete like a rag doll, he'd thrown everything he had at stopping Tony; not just dissuading him, stopping him.

That had been the moment when Steve had realized that nothing short of taking out the suit would get Tony to back down.

So that was exactly what he'd done.

And it had nearly killed him to do it.

God, the look on Tony's face as he'd brought his shield down that final time to compromise the suit's arc-reactor...

...in that split-second, Tony had genuinely feared that Steve intended to kill him.

And all the fight had drained out of Steve just as it had Tony, leaving him feeling heartsick and utterly, numbingly weary.

Feelings that lingered even now as he half-led, half-carried Bucky up through the maze of corridors they had descended through what felt like another lifetime ago.

It was only Bucky's weight at his side that kept him from simply collapsing there in the middle of the corridor. That and the resolve to get back to the Quinjet. Back to Nina and—

And a renewed knot of unease twisted in Steve's gut.

Where was Nadine?

The plan had been for her to back them up against whatever had been waiting for them in the bowels of the base. And according to Tony, she'd been doing just that, splitting off from him inside the base and taking the stairs so she could approach from another direction while he took the elevator shaft to meet up with him and Bucky. But even accounting for the time it would've taken to descend to the lower levels of the base on foot?

So where on Earth was she? Even with Tony joining them, there was no way Nadine would've been satisfied that they would be able to take the Five without her. Even though ultimately the Five Winter Soldiers had already been neutralized, she wouldn't have known that and would've still followed them down into the base. There had to be a logical reason why she hadn't. Had she stayed topside to ensure no one but them exited the base? Had she decided it was more critical that she stay near the Quinjet to make sure no one tried to go for it? Had she figured she'd have better odds of stopping anyone who managed to get past him, Bucky and Tony nearer to the surface? Had she found a better spot to set up an ambush closer to the base's main entrance?

Frankly and frustratingly, he had no idea.

Whatever she had done, though, he had to hope that she'd managed to stop Zemo. In the chaos that had followed Tony's attack, the Sokovian had slipped away. They'd been more than halfway to the surface when that realization had pushed its way into Steve's troubled thoughts. Hopefully, he hadn't made it past her.

It would be a small consolation at least, if she had caught him.

But it didn't quite stop him from wishing that she had followed them down into the base. He could've used her help in getting Bucky out of there. Desperately. He could've used her help against Tony—

Only for another, far more troubling thought to hit him.

A realization that left him feeling like he was going to be viscerally ill, a chill prickling across his skin that had nothing to do with the temperature in the base.

Tony had gone after Bucky with lethal force. Had Nadine been there? The instant she'd realized that Tony was genuinely trying to kill Bucky?

Nadine wouldn't have hesitated.

The Ghost wouldn't have hesitated.

She would've turned lethal force on Tony in kind.

And deep in his gut, Steve suddenly knew with utter certainty that, had Nadine been there when Tony had attacked?

There would've been bodies.

Nadine would've killed Tony or died trying.

He fought to suppress a shudder. He couldn't even think of the fallout had that happened. He couldn't bear to think how much worse the potential outcome would've been had Nadine joined the fight.

He couldn't bear to think about it. Period.

And he violently pushed the thought away.

No, as much as he hated how badly things had gone down in the heart of the former missile silo, a part of him had to admit it could've been much, much worse.

Bucky was alive. Tony was alive. He was alive. They were all worse for wear, especially Bucky, but they were all alive. So was Nina. And —hopefully, a cruel little voice piped up—so was Nadine.

He had to focus on that. They could worry about the fallout later. They could worry about Zemo later.

For now, the focus had to be on retreat, rest and recovery. On healing from the blows that had been dished out—both emotionally and physically. On finding somewhere safe to begin pulling themselves back together.

Once they'd done that, then they could decide what to do next.

And with that vague course settled on, Steve was finally able to start pulling himself back together from the gut-wrenching emotional turmoil Zemo's set-up had left him in. Drawing in a long, steadying breath, Steve forcibly pulled his focus back to getting him and Bucky out of the former Soviet base.

He was quite ready to leave this awful place and everything that had happened behind him.

By the time they made it back to the surface, Steve was beginning to struggle. Fighting Tony had taken a lot out of him—not just emotionally, but physically. But it had taken far more out of Bucky. Fear and sick worry twisted painfully in his gut at how battered and weak his friend was. Not to mention how clearly in shock he was.

As they reached the final corridor, the faint waft of frigid air drafting lazily through the dim space, Bucky was little more than deadweight. He was barely able to stay upright, putting what little strength he had at the moment into staggering along against Steve. With a grunt of exertion, Steve renewed his hold on him, clutching him closer as he settled Bucky's arm more securely across his shoulders. Bucky's head lolled against his chest, a small, hitching sound of pain the only noise he made. At least the end was in sight; Steve could see the dim sliver of waning daylight up ahead as they turned the final corner.

But then Steve's breath caught and dread was suddenly howling in his chest.

The slice of fading light painted across the floor from the ajar door was broken up by a pair of pale boots...

For a split-second Steve thought his heart was about to stop for panic, his tight grip on Bucky nearly faltering as he staggered to a halt in the middle of the corridor.

"Nadine—"

Propped up in a niche halfway between where Steve stood and the door a dozen yards ahead was Nadine. Her head was leaning against the wall, her eyes closed. Her hands where they lay limp on her lap were bound with the set of reinforced ties he knew she carried on her belt. Her whole body was limp, really, her shoulders slumped and legs extended out in front of her. She looked like she'd been dragged to where she'd been left, the faint scuffs and traces of displaced dust on the floor giving that away.

And a faint trickle of blood trailed down her temple, catching strands of her pale hair that had been jostled loose from its functional ponytail. At once fury rose to battle his panic.

She'd been ambushed. Tony?

No, he self-corrected immediately. Tony would've had no reason. He'd even mentioned speaking with her before helping direct her to another route down to the cryo-chamber. And Steve believed him.

It couldn't have been Tony.

But then who? Zemo? Who else could it have been? But that line of thought fell by the wayside almost as soon as it had surfaced. 'Who' didn't feel important in that moment. Not when he didn't even know if she was...

And at once he was moving again, nearly dragging Bucky along with him in his determination to get to her, barely even registering that Bucky had tensed, beginning to revive as he too noticed Nadine. Steve couldn't even properly register the rasping, murmured way Bucky said his name, his weakly apprehensive tone insisting without additional words that they needed get to her. He was too focused on her. On finding out if she was...

A powerful wave of relief stole over Steve then as he noted the gentle rise and fall of her chest. So powerful he nearly lost his hold on Bucky again, his fury and panic abruptly fading. Not that it faded entirely.

More than that, she was beginning to stir; roused, no doubt, by the sound of Steve and Bucky's approach. A sharp, stinging breath gusted from Steve as she groaned, straightening, tensing as she battled past her disorientation to take stock of her situation.

It was all Steve could do not to rush to her side. Or really, it was Bucky's weight across his shoulders and against his side that held him back. That kept him from sweeping forward and gathering her tight against him. As it was, he still shuffled them over to her as quickly as he could, unable to completely ignore the urge.

With every bit of care he could manage, he lowered Bucky down to sit against the wall next to her even as her pale grey eyes fluttered open. The look of apology he spared his oldest friend was brushed aside with an intent look and tensed jaw even as Bucky sagged against the concrete. It was all the encouragement he needed, and at once his attention was fixed back on Nadine, his heart thrumming anxiously as it pressed up against his windpipe. It took a pair of deep breaths to rein his worry back enough to allow him to speak.

"Nadine," he murmured, cautiously reaching out to her. Anxious as he was to reassure himself that she was okay, he restrained himself from doing more than brushing his fingertips against her arm, braced for any manner of instinctive, defensive reaction. He knew full well her training would see her lashing out if he startled her badly enough, and he had no way of know just how disoriented she was.

So, relieved as he was that she appeared to have regained consciousness, he wasn't about to risk startling her.

"Nadine," Steve repeated as gently as he could manage, not entirely succeeding in keeping the urgent worry from his voice. "Are you alright? Can you move?" Another soft groan escaped her as her hands rose to her face, her left palm pressing against her temple as her eyes squeezed shut.

But her answer to his careful question was not what he'd expected.

"Oh, I'm going to skin that bloody cat-man alive!"

Steve nearly jerked back at her grumbled response, eyes widening with bewilderment as he and Bucky shared a startled look even as his brow furrowed.

Cat-man?

At once his gut was knotting once more with dread.

T'Challa.

Well, that answered the 'who' of who was responsible for knocking her out. The Wakandan had managed to track them here, he realized with a jolt of foreboding.

Because that was exactly what they needed, right now...

"C'mon. We need to go," Steve said grimly, his hand settling on Nadine's shoulder for a moment. She let out a low, heavy breath as her hands lowered, looking up to him.

It was then that Nadine caught sight of Bucky and finally registered Steve's own injuries, her pale grey eyes widening with alarm. "What happened?" she demanded, not quite able to hide the thread of fear from her tone as she turned her startled, worried gaze to Steve. He met her eye grimly, unable to completely hide the sad, helpless dejection that settled over him, like a great weight was once more pressing down on his shoulders.

"Stark," was all he said. It was more than enough. A faint, choked sound escaped the back of Nadine's throat.

"What?" Steve nodded grimly at her shocked, breathless disbelief.

"It was a set up, Nadine," he explained briefly, his tone turning detached as the soldier in him reflexively rose up as his composure threatened to falter. "The other Winter Soldiers were already dead. Zemo had no intention of letting them loose. He was aiming to bring us—the Avengers—down from the inside. And he used Bucky's past to do it...the same way Ultron used yours." The blood drained from Nadine's face.

"Oh God..." she breathed, the words slipping out. Steve's gut clenched as she looked from him to Bucky and back, visibly shaken.

Steve spared her what he hoped was a reassuring look—he rather doubted he had managed to pull it off considering the suddenly sharp, searching look she fixed him with—before retreating from her side so he could start pulling Bucky back to his feet. "We need to get back to the Quinjet."

In a blink her expression shifted, her distress fading as her typical and carefully cultivated self-control automatically took over. Nodding sharply, Nadine deftly snapped the ties restraining her wrists before standing, subtly bracing herself against the wall as she regained her equilibrium after what had to have been a nasty hit.

Though still worried thanks to the flicker of discomfort that crossed her features, he was satisfied for the moment that Nadine wasn't seriously hurt. Swallowing back a pained grunt as his own abused body objected, Steve helped Bucky get his feet under him once more, automatically hitching Bucky's arm across his shoulder again to keep him upright long enough to get him onboard the Quinjet. Already the faint burst of adrenaline their mutual fear for Nadine had brought was fading and, though his eyes were encouragingly brighter than they had been even a couple minutes before, Bucky was still leaning on Steve far more heavily than he liked.

Heavily enough that Steve nearly lost his hold on him.

But then Nadine was on Bucky's other side, steadying him with an arm around his back and a hand braced against his abdomen—carefully avoiding brushing against the remains of his metal arm, he couldn't help but notice with a rush of tenderness—as Steve adjusted his hold, her features almost unreadable save for the concern plainly visible in her eyes as she met Steve's.

He attempted a small smile to try and convey his gratitude, but he only barely managed little more than a twitch of his lips. But she seemed to understand, her expression softening.

And with that, they resumed their slow trek back to the Quinjet, Nadine only relinquishing her place at Bucky's side when they reached the door so that she could open it further to allow them easier passage through.

Steve was nearly tempted to smile as a low exhale of relief caused Nadine's shoulders to sag minutely as she laid eyes on the Quinjet where it still sat a couple hundred feet from the heavily reinforced iron door he was currently guiding Bucky through. They were almost there.

Even though the distance from the base's entrance to the boarding ramp of the Quinjet seemed much further away than it had seemed when they'd first arrived, Steve could already feel some of the tension in his own frame beginning to ease in anticipation of the safety and shelter the Quinjet represented.

It was perhaps only an illusion, but it was encouraging nevertheless. It was enough that Steve's flagging spirits began to revive, starting to strengthen once more from the low his clash with Tony had left them wallowing in. And with it came a subtle, but nevertheless noticeable swell of renewed energy that saw the exhausted ache threatening to stiffen his limbs begin to ease and the fuzziness of emotional fatigue temporarily retreat from the edges of his mind.

His resolve bolstered, he started to lead Bucky out across the snow, absently thankful that the sharp, snow-laden wind from earlier had died down even as he noted the temperature had started to drop as evening began to descend. Not for the first time he was grateful for his Enhanced physiology and his resistance to cold because of it.

Not that he wasn't looking forward to getting somewhere warmer, even if it was only inside the Quinjet.

Only to freeze as a distinctive rush of clicks saw Nadine's sidearm in her hands as she angled herself in front of him and Bucky, her grip as steady and fixed as the cool expression on her face and the hard glint in her eyes.

And her aim unerringly on the figure standing, hands already raised in surrender, before the Quinjet. At once Steve tensed, his gut knotting sharply even as the soldier in him surged forward, ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation no matter his current weary state. Against his side, he felt Bucky stiffen.

"I could kill you, right now," Nadine said with icy poise, "king or not."

"Peace, Ms Ryker," T'Challa said calmly, his head tilting faintly in acknowledgement. "I mean you and you companions no harm." Her impassive expression didn't waver. And neither did her aim between his eyes.

"Really? Your actions would suggest otherwise. Give me a good reason not to shoot you," she responded with deceptive calm, though there was no disguising the soft, dangerous quality to her tone. Steve glanced warily between them, profoundly unsettled. What was T'Challa playing at? The Wakandan king didn't quite seem to grasp just how serious Nadine was.

T'Challa's head bowed, his lips curling in a reserved, apologetic smile.

"I would not blame you if you did," he agreed earnestly.

Or maybe he did.

It startled Steve from the uneasy dread that had gripped him as soon as he'd realized who was standing before them. Nadine didn't react outwardly save for the faintest tilt of her head. T'Challa sighed softly, his sedate smile fading to an unguarded expression of remorse. "I have since come to understand just how wrong I was in my pursuit of Sergeant Barnes," he said after a bracing breath, straightening as he made an absent gesture off to the side. Though wary of taking his eyes from T'Challa given his previously self-acknowledged drive to kill Bucky, Steve allowed himself to follow the Wakandan king's gaze.

It took him a moment to understand precisely what T'Challa had motioned to, only seeing a—nevertheless impressive—Quinjet-like aircraft not far away from their Quinjet and the all-terrain snow vehicle that had already been parked outside the base when they'd arrived.

But then he caught sight of the warmly dressed and carefully secured figure that was leaning against the starboard strut of the Wakandan jet's boarding ramp.

Zemo.

A flare of rage sparked in Steve's chest. He inhaled deeply, letting the cool Siberian air ground him as it rushed into his lungs.

"So you admit Bucky had nothing to do with your father's death," Steve pressed as he looked back to T'Challa, fixing the king with a hard look, "and that he had no control over his actions in Berlin thanks to what that man did by activating his HYDRA programming?" Deliberately, T'Challa bowed his head in a deep nod.

"I do, Captain," T'Challa said soberly as he looked from Steve to Nadine before finally settling his heavy gaze on Bucky. "And I can only offer my unreserved apologies for my actions. That my desire for justice—no, for vengeance," he corrected, his features tightening with shame, "blinded me is no excuse. My people...my father," he amended again, his voice threatening to crack with grief for the barest of moments before he recovered, "we pride ourselves on acting with honour and fairness. In seeking justice and truth. But we—I," a wry, self-deprecating grin twitched across his lips, "regrettably allowed myself to use our custom to act swiftly and decisively in pursuit of that justice to justify my desire to avenge my father's death without taking the time to ensure I was hunting the right man. That is not our way." 

He fell silent then, his features turning decidedly thoughtful, albeit mournful, as his eyes grew distant. Slowly Nadine's sidearm lowered, her impassive expression slowly melting to one of guarded—albeit suspicious—consideration. After a long moment T'Challa once more began to speak, sounding almost sadly wistful as he did.

"One of many things my father taught me about being a good King is to be courageous and gracious enough to admit my mistakes. To admit when I am wrong." T'Challa straightened again, his chin rising as he looked between Steve and his remaining teammates. "It's also a part of being a good man. And I was wrong. And for that, I intend to make amends."

Steve let out a long, slow breath as he studied the Wakandan king. There was simply no denying T'Challa's sincerity. His genuine remorse. His resolve to atone for his error and the harm it had caused. Against his side, Bucky shifted, still eying T'Challa warily.

But not as warily as the look Nadine still had fixed on the Wakandan king.

"And you intend to do that, how?" she prompted. The corner of T'Challa's lip twitched, his eyes darting to the lowered but still ready way Nadine still held her gun.

He then nodded elegantly toward the Quinjet where it sat gathering a light dusting of snow behind him.

"Go," T'Challa said with a nod toward the Quinjet. "I will look after this one here. I intend to ensure he faces true justice for his crimes." He spared a veiled but nevertheless hard glance to Zemo, before fixing Steve with a solemn look. "And I will explain what has happened here. But it is better if you all are gone when Agent Ross and his people arrive." He smiled then, bowing his head shallowly, a knowing, even mischievous glint appearing in his dark eyes. "And once you have finished what you need to do, you might consider taking a trip to my country." He grew solemn again, his gaze landing on Bucky as remorse shadowed his features. "Wakanda owes you all a debt and I would see it honoured." Bucky flinched, unable to hold T'Challa's eye.

"You don't owe me anything," he rasped out. T'Challa shook his head.

"I hunted you unfairly. And," he added with another slight bow of his head toward Zemo, "had it not been for you and your friends, the truth might never have been known and my father's killer would have escaped the justice he deserves.

"For that, asylum and protection is the least I can offer."

Though part of Steve rebelled at the idea of running and of leaving Zemo, he knew T'Challa was right. Even if Agent Ross believed T'Challa's account of what happened and if Zemo confessed, Steve very much doubted Secretary Ross would be content to let bygones be bygones.

Nadine had been right about him. Hell, Steve's own read of the man that day at the Compound had been right.

Ross was no ally of the Avengers.

Regardless of the simple fact that Steve had been right about Bucky's involvement—or lack thereof, to be precise—there was no way Ross would settle for anything less than Steve's arrest anymore. He certainly would never budge on his insistence over Bucky's arrest, either. Or Nadine's. Leipzig had definitively seen to that. Exchanging a brief glance with his oldest friend that easily conveyed that Bucky agreed with Steve, he looked to the blonde assassin next. And the knowing glint in her pale grey eyes immediately left him suspecting that her thoughts had followed a similar path as his to the same inevitable conclusion.

They had little choice but to follow T'Challa's recommendation.

Nadine offered him a restrained but supportive smile. One he returned. They would decide about the rest of the Wakandan king's offer later.

For now, it was more important that they make some distance between them and this godforsaken place.

He turned back to T'Challa.

"Thank you."

And with a regal nod of acknowledgement, farewell and good luck, T'Challa stepped aside, leaving the path to the Quinjet and their retreat clear.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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