A/N: You all replied with some AWESOME criticisms. THANK YOU! This story has the best followers ever. Please enjoy the next chapter.

Zarannya: Thank you, thank you, thank you for pointing out all those crazy plot holes! I totally forgot that Sam and Scott inevitably would have heard Clint's and Tony's conversation, because obviously everyone could hear each other pretty well, and I think if Tony was there they would have been straining at full attention (they were kind of bored out of their minds, after all). I'm thinking about how to fix that…probably in the second draft of this story. Right now I think Sam is totally oblivious but Scott suspects something and is trying to drop hints but Clint isn't taking the bait. Barton family is DEFINITELY coming in at some point, hopefully soon! I don't know if they'll get to meet Sam but that is a strong maybe. And I'm excited that you liked how T'Challa's respect is growing for Clint. He really is extremely intelligent, which is often not noted. So glad to have you as a reader!

AndreKI: Here 'tis! May not quite be what you were expecting…but there is certainly drama! Hehe. Let me know what you think and any ideas you have for their relationship!

Black' Victor Cachat: How do you continue to point out things about my story that I didn't even realize? That is an amazing thing and has helped me SO MUCH, I cannot begin to say. THANK YOU! I totally wrote that whole chapter without realizing that, yes, Clint was basically hinting at romance between him and Wanda, duh, that is what was happening. I was thinking he was just simply dismissing Sam's calling their father-daughter relationship, and somehow even in the writing of the scene I didn't realize exactly what I was having him communicate. Lol. Uh-huh, yeah, Ross is totally oblivious (along with most of the rest of the world, methinks!) about Wakanda's true powers hidden away! Trying to decide how those powers will be displayed in the next chapter; plz share if you have any thoughts! And that is a great point about Hope—I totally forgot about her—! She was supposed to be in that chapter! *Cringes.*Maybe I'll figure out how to worm her back in—? I love Hope, I feel so bad that I forgot her. Thanks for reviewing!

DarylDixon'sLover: Oooh, yessss! That would be epic. We've got to bring Bucky back somehow, yeah? I'll have to see if it plays into the narrative, but I would loooove that to happen.

NerdyEnchantress: *grins hugely* I'm so glad you liked it! Oh! Do you really think I get T'Challa in-character? He's the one I was most worried about—we have so little to base his speech on so far! And I'm so happy you liked Sam and all his ridiculousness! I love him *grins again* Thank you so much for reviewing!

Gandalf537: SO sorry it took so long to update! Guess what? More suspense! Lol, muahaha. So happy you are enjoying this story! Thanks for the review.

Guest: Aww, thank you muchly! I hope you enjoy this next one as well!

James Williamson: HOLY COW I think I just about had a heart attack when I first saw your review. Thank you SOSOSOSOSO MUCH for all your amazing feedback! I really appreciate, especially, your tips on plot development and maintaining the suspense. As you can see I did take some of your suggestions—Tony is back, and will continue to be. I'm happy about that for sure. "Show, don't tell" is definitely something I need to work on—I have a tendency to slack off when I'm trying to rush through a story before I forget what I want to write. Or when I'm anxious to publish *winces*. However, the style you demonstrated (very cool to read, nevertheless—I absolutely appreciate your taking the time to write it out for me!) draws the focus to Ross and T'Challa, and the story is still not focused on them. It could be, but it's not a political story, though this part has some of those elements. I'm trying to make it more about the relationships between the characters, and Clint and Wanda are still at the epicenter of that. In the next few chapters we're hopefully going to get to a place where the two of them are on their own together, and that's what I want the heart of the story to be about. Still, I agree, I could definitely have added more flesh onto the scene and I'll certainly be doing that when I go back and work out a second draft. So, a thousand thanks! :D

That is super cool about your projects; do you write more original material or fanfic? Eight years is a long time—that's wonderful!

The 'date stuff' is also more of a joke—maybe I took it too far. Hopefully nobody's mad when they read this chapter. I agree, there's a whole lot of more important matters on the line.

I really hope you enjoy this chapter as well (: You are an invaluable help—thank you for your investing your time in helping me improve!

Salwyn77: So glad you are enjoying it! I am a super sucker for Daddyhawk—there's just not enough of it, ya know? Hope you enjoy this chapter as well! More Wanda/Clint interaction is coming later on (:

... ... ... ... ...

Regret, Wrath, Rage, and Revenge

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Tony stared at the light on his desktop telephone, a bored smirk on his face.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Why did he still have a desktop phone? They were invented before even Steve had been alive. He needed an update.

But, then he wouldn't get to watch the hold button blinking as Ross attempted to call.

It was rather fun, as Vision would say.

"You should probably answer that."

Tony grunted in response.

Rhodey grinned as he wheeled himself into the room, transferring to the sofa and stretching himself out with an exhale of satisfaction.

They both stared at the light as it continued, the glow reflecting off of Tony's face.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

It wasn't like either of them had anything better to do.

"Are you feeling all right, Tony?"

"Hmm? I feel fantastic. How 'bout you?"

"Says the guy who managed to hide palladium poisoning from me for almost a month."

"Three months, and, I'm sorry, is the only reason you're here so you can question my life choices?"

Rhodey snorted. "Sometimes I wonder if I do anything but."

Tony rolled his eyes, but noticeably winced in pain as he got up to pour himself a drink in the kitchenette.

His friend's eyes narrowed, but he didn't ask again.

When Tony was quiet for thirty more whole seconds, he finally changed the subject.

"You made any progress on the labor-intensive task of calling Pepper?"

"There again, with the life choices."

"I'm just asking!"

Tony sipped thoughtfully. "I think she's busy."

"Her mom died, Tony."

"Exactly. That's why she doesn't want to talk to me. I'm not a consoling partner, Rhodes" he stated as a fact.

"You're not going to try?" Rhodey pushed. "After all she's done for you, you're going to give up?"

"I think we've had this conversation before," Tony started to sound annoyed. "And she's the one who said she needed a break!"

Rhodey threw his hands up in the air. "For crying out loud, Tony, she wanted a break from the suits and the Avengers and you blowing yourself up while she was trying to arrange a funeral, not a break from you!"

"Same thing, just worded differently."

"She's trying to mourn the only person she really cares about besides you. Don't try and pretend you don't understand that—I know you loved your mom, no matter how often you refuse to talk about her," Rhodey scolded him sternly.

"That's what you don't understand," Tony suddenly moved forward, rounding the back of the couch and flopping down opposite his friend. He faced Rhodey with an unreadable expression. "—Not the mom part," he clarified. "The suits. I can't get rid of the suits, Rhodey, they're part of me."

Rhodey just frowned and continued to listen.

"I tried to," Tony continued, making vague gestures with his free hand. "For her. I couldn't do it. I need them, for whatever reason, because I'm weak or jaded or something totally different. I—I need them to keep me from turning her into a crutch."

Rhodey frowned, surprised that Tony was being so honest with him. He struggled to sit up, leaning forward on his wobbly knees.

Tony looked back at him, barely meeting his eyes. "I can't do that to her. She's more to me than tha—"

A loud "BUMP!" and mild swearing were heard in the room above them. Tony and Rhodey both blinked at the ceiling. "Parker must be making himself at home up there," Rhodey observed, drumming his fingers against his knee.

"Ever met teenagers?" Tony shrugged. "They're persistent."

"No, they're not," Rhodey disagreed. "This one is, because you're the one who insists on having him around."

"—Whatever," Tony deadpanned.

"Give up the suits for a day," Rhodey pleaded, returning to their earlier conversation. "Can you do that? One day. Just go down there, and be there for her."

Tony shifted in his seat, wincing again.

"Meet her family, ask her how she's doing, how you can help. Then you come back and do whatever you want. You don't have to give everything up for her. You just have to do what you can."

Tony didn't respond for a moment. Suddenly, he shifted upward and flashed him a half-smile. "I'll think about it. You know what?" he stood abruptly, wiping his hands on his pants although they had nothing on them, "I think I should go check on Mrs. Barton."

Confusion crossed Rhodey's face. "Who?"

"Mrs. Barton," Tony repeated, as if he should know who that was. "I'll be back later tonight. Don't fall and break your nose while I'm gone."

"I have no idea who that is. And," he pointed sternly in Tony's direction, "if there is something wrong with you, you better tell me before you pass out in my arms like last time. 'Cause if I'm not in my wheelchair at the time, we're both going down, thank you very much."

Tony waved dismissively, heading out through the elevator.

Vision shifted into view through one of the side walls as soon as he was gone. "If he did pass out in your arms, I'm afraid I would have to come rescue you both," he pointed out, watching the elevator door where Tony had just disappeared.

"As much as it pains me to admit, that is probably true," Rhodey shook his head.

"It also sounds to me as though he was stalling," Vision stated wisely, innocent of the fact that he'd just listened in on a private conversation. "about visiting Miss Potts."

Rhodey laughed. "Stalling? Yea. I'd have to agree with you on that one. But I don't know anything about this Mrs. Barton business. Is she like, Clint's grandma or something?"

Vision shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea."

Rhodey smiled and pointed at him. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

Vision sighed. "The more I know, the less I find I truly understand that knowledge."

Rhodey waited a moment, then sighed as well. "I still think something's wrong with him. He keeps acting weird. Even for him, and that's saying. Is it strange that I only thought of it because he was quiet for ten whole minutes, staring at that thing?" he indicated the phone.

"Isn't that unusual for Tony?"

"Oh, Viz," Rhodey shook his head, shifting himself back into his chair with a grunt. He settled himself with another sigh. "You have no idea."

… …

Wanda stomped into T'Challa's private office, ignoring the lush paintings on the walls or the pure, reflective gold floor and heading directly toward him. She glared down at him for all she was worth.

The young king looked up, startled by her expression.

"What do you think you're doing?" Wanda slammed the door behind her, using her power. She folded her arms over her chest.

"What are you attacking me for?" T'Challa exclaimed.

"Are you afraid of war?" she demanded.

"Who isn't afraid of war?!" he was shocked.

"I grew up in a warzone! War is what I fear more than anything else," Wanda's eyes flashed. "A very good friend of mine even told me once that conflict breeds catastrophe. Two wars took everything from me: my parents, my childhood, my humanity, even my brother," she seethed. "But do you know what I say? Despite causing catastrophe, conflict is the only route to change."

"I am a brand new king! Change is the last thing I want. My country has not been at war for thousands of years. People are counting on me for their very lives!" T'Challa hissed, rising from his desk.

"They are doing the same to Ross!" Wanda pointed out, her voice elevated. Her eyes sparked with a red glow, but T'Challa was unfazed by it. "He isn't like you; he causes conflict and nobody can reason with him to stop it! He is the big shot who thinks he knows what's best for everyone and that gives him an excuse to lie at every turn. To hurt people; to lock them up like animals like he did to me!" She heaved a breath, beginning to shake slightly. "War is disgusting," she continued, in a broken tone. "But if you don't use the power Wakanda developed for this very reason, in case one day you would need it, why have your righteous values in the first place? Otherwise we are caught in a cycle of death and destruction, and only you have the power to stop it."

T'Challa shook his head, swallowing, clearly at an internal battle with himself. "How can I?" he pleaded at last, lifting his eyes to hers. "Ross has hurt people, he has harmed you and your friends. But if I play to him, he may leave us in peace!"

"Ross does not leave anyone in peace," Wanda folded her arms, a bitter tone in her voice, "unless they play to him over and over again. Clint—my dad—has told me about the Accords," she continued in a softer voice. "He read them since coming here. I read them as well, but they were hard to understand. For an old guy, he knows his politics," she continued dryly. "He's been—" she drew in a sharp breath, "—betrayed—one too many times. He says Ross is a madman, determined to enslave all superhumans who do not follow his direct orders. In doing so, he could control the world. And if I'm not mistaken," she cocked her head sassily to one side, "you fall under the category of 'superhuman' as much as I do."

T'Challa met her gaze unblinkingly. "Secretary Ross is only a man," he said at last.

"He is taking advantage of you. Of all of us."

"Don't try and pretend you are not powerful enough to control the whole world if you wanted to," T'Challa frowned deeply, meeting her with a challenging gaze.

Wanda flinched and her confident pose faltered for a moment. "Am I controlling you now?" she bit back.

"Are you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Would you be challenging me like this if I was?"

T'Challa gave her a strained smirk. "Okay," he sighed at last, "I will take your advice. On one condition," he smiled wider as he raised a finger in her direction, "that you will fight alongside me to protect my kingdom."

She smirked back. "Whatever it takes to finish Ross."

His expression changed to a more sober one. "Then let's go," he came out from behind his desk quickly, taking her shoulder and guiding her out with him. "We have much to do in our remaining time."

… … …

T'Challa blew out a huge breath as he stood before the United Nations aircraft, still sitting idle on the open flight deck that overlooked the mountains. A gentle breeze blew, the same breeze he had felt on his face ever since he could remember.

It was ironic that the breeze could be so gentle, considering the severity of what was about to happen.

Behind him, the Avengers waited, out of sight, in case of the worst. His own men, soldiers as well as palace guards, surrounded the entire area with weapons Ross would never have dreamed a little African nation would own.

In actuality, they not only owned many more of the weapons, but had also invented and manufactured them as well.

It was only the beginning of their protective capabilities.

"Secretary Ross!" he bellowed, in the most authoritative voice he could manage, as his guards brought forward the Secretary and his companions.

Ross looked rumpled and angry in his grey business suit. "What is it, Boy?" he barked in reply.

T'Challa's eyes narrowed. "I have taken council with everyone. My advisors, my friends, and as many others as I possibly could in the time frame we agreed to." He paused for a second, wetting his lips. "We will not give up innocent men and women to a corrupt establishment, which is your United Nations and many of the countries that comprise it. Begin your destruction of our nation during your search, and you will find what happens to enemies of Wakanda."

Ross' frown deepened, as though he thought he hadn't heard T'Challa correctly. "What did you say?" he spoke in a low growl.

T'Challa strutted out his chin. "Leave us and the Avengers in peace," he spoke calmly, "or you will suffer the wrath of the Black Panther."

Rage built up on the Secretary's face for several long seconds. His jaw began to shake. "Men!" he shouted—only to be cut short by an unseen force.

Unexpectedly, he blanched white, his eyes going wide and terrified.

T'Challa stepped back, confused as to what was happening.

A misty red hue appeared in the air just in front of the Ross' face, most of it reflecting from his eyes. "Leave them in peace," he spoke, in an unnatural, strained voice.

A horrible realization dawned on T'Challa's face.

Ross motioned to his men, slowly, as though his arms were moving through a puddle of water. "We must leave. We can never return here," he spoke again, hoarse.

T'Challa whipped around, seeing Wanda having stepped out from behind a pillar of the palace. Her face was concentrated in Ross' direction and her hands outstretched, red light glowing from each of her fingertips. "What are you doing!?" he shouted, eyes going wide.

She glanced up at him briefly, apologetic. "I'm sorry," she gasped, breathlessly. "But—it was never going to work. I knew it—from the start!"

T'Challa was stunned. He turned first to see Ross, followed by his confused fellow UN workers back to their plane, climbing inside and starting the engine.

Then he turned back to Wanda. "You—how can you do this?" he exclaimed incredulously. "You hypocrite!"

"T'Challa, he would have killed—everyone in your palace. Threatened your whole country, all your people—"

T'Challa straightened. "You can call me 'Your Majesty'," he declared, brows furrowed. "You accused Ross of lying because he thinks he knows what is best for people. How are you any different if you do this? You do not know what is best for my country! I was a fool to trust your judgement!"

Wanda gasped and released her power over Ross' mind as their jet roared and took off down the runway, disappearing into the sky.

T'Challa let his head fall into one hand, kneading the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He was quiet for a moment, as the other Avengers started to appear out of hiding and other Wakandan guards and soldiers also emerged, bewildered as to what had just happened. "If you cannot see the similarity," he said after a while, in a near-broken tone, "between your opinion on how change can occur, and your own—" he raised reluctant eyes to her own, "you are too powerful to be trusted, Witch."

Wanda's face fell. She stood in her place, head bowed, still trying to catch her breath.

All of a sudden, she felt a warm, calloused hand grab her own.

Her eyes flicked up to Clint's.

"Time to go?" he suggested.

She took a shaky breath, and swallowed hard. "Time to go."

… … …

"Sir?"

Ross lifted his head with a frown to see a young specialist headed toward him with a smart screen in hand. "You have something?"

Since his return from Wakanda the day before, he had struggled in a frustrating manner to remember exactly what had happened. He knew the young kind had defied him, but beyond that—

Inwardly he shuddered. There was an unspoken reason why he now dreaded that country. Even revenge no longer seemed as sweet to him, if it meant returning to that place.

He flipped open his glasses and stared down at the display as the specialist opened up a file.

"We recorded this during an outing performed by Mr. Stark, Sir."

"Does he know we recorded it?"

"Not as far as we know, Sir."

Ross watched the scene play out on the screen for a full twenty minutes.

The specialist watched him, worried. "Should we have them monitored? These people are off-records, but they appear to be genuinely who Mr. Stark identifies them as. They're the wife and children of Clint Barton," he supplied.

When Ross didn't answer, he felt obligated to continue.

"The—angry—one beating up Stark is Agent Romanoff…"

"I know who Agent Romanoff is," Ross grunted, annoyed. "What did you say? Monitored? No. They might notice if you plant a device at this specific location. We have no idea how the security is rigged, since it's such a rural location."

He stared at the screen for a few more moments, contemplating.

"File them in our records and keep them there until we have a reason to use them. Or watch them," he corrected himself. "Clint Barton is hardly a concern to me right now. He's an ex-SHIELD agent, nearly fifty years old, and fights his battles with a bunch of sticks. Hardly an Avenger. The more powerful ones? Those are the ones I'm concerned about," he eyed the specialist meaningfully, tapping the side of his head. "That little witch, foremost. Now, if you can find something on her, it would be gold to me."

The specialist grinned. "I'll get right on it, Sir."

"You'd better," Ross grunted, turning back to his desk. "And tighten the security on Stark, if you don't mind. He's beginning to be a bit of a liability, visiting family members of the fugitives. And Agent Romanoff, too, if you can pull off security on her without being stupidly obvious," he added under his breath.

In the corner of the room, a tall, muscular man with hair that had once been red, but was now a rusty white listened in, pretending to be busy at his computer station.

The specialist left.

The red-haired man leaned back in his chair, biting his lower lip and stretching out with his arms above his head, smirking.

"You've been busy, Little Brother," he muttered, watching the specialist leave out of the reflection on his computer screen.

He ran his palm, contemplatively, over a long scar that ran from his armpit down to his wrist, ending in an arrow-shaped slash across all five fingers. The skin still pricked against the rough edges of his jacket sleeve, even after more than thirty years.

He was memorizing the specialist for later.

They were going to have a talk.