Ororo held her husband by the arm as the both of them watched the two men chat. One with a metal arm, the other with a loyalty of steel.

No, not steel. Vibranium.

They couldn't really hear what the two of them were talking about, but that was unnecessary. After what had happened with the Avengers, the whole world had turned their eyes on the both of them. Imagine that! The entire world fixated on an antique man and his best friend. All the paparazzi and the crowd! In all seriousness, Storm believed they were happy to be isolated from the rest in the bubble of Wakandan shelter. It was her idea, although T'Challa said that he thought of it before. Regardless, both her spouse and she agreed that the two men had endured enough. They needed some privacy; no, they deserved some privacy. A little quiet to balance out the chaos and insanity that was "civil war"...to quote the tabloids of America. She smirked. It wasn't really a war, more of a skirmish. A quarrel that the world mistook for an all-out battle. Newspapers had a way of exaggerating things, of making things seem bigger than they should be. Well, she never understood journalism anyway.

That and the fact that she was always under so much stress when interviewed by the press; Wakandan or otherwise. Yes, the spotlight wasn't her thing. And she was sure the Captain's friend shared her sentiments. A life of crime and regret, buried deeply in the past, only to be dug up by belligerent journalists and unearthed by politicians. They definitely needed some downtime.

And to tell the truth, T'Challa and her needed some too.

"His decision?"

Her husband looked at her and smiled. The kind of smile that she knew meant everything was going to be alright. Although that typically meant something that she didn't expect was going to happen. Which meant that the Captain's friend had chosen to go under. Unfortunate really, he seemed like he would be willing to be of use somewhere. T'Challa could always need some help or find something somewhere for him to do. He was sure to comply, to clear his ledger.

"Does Steve know? The Captain, I mean."

He looked at her and shook his head.

"I believe he would tell him soon."

She pursed her lips. Why did he always have to be so cryptic?

This man would forever be a mystery to her. It was pretty obvious the day she met him, dressed in his curiously smart outfit for a "street-kid", or so he told her. And she was observant enough to notice the three burly men and about five women who trailed cautiously behind him. The small purple embroidering in his fabric was one only certain nobles had access to. She was trying to figure out who he was, weaving in and out of the lines of people until she bumped into him. Her hand reached forward into where his purse would be, but she caught his hand instead.

The thirteen or so people behind him tensed up, shoulders straightening and one even stepped forward. His eye caught his guards and they immediately eased. He then looked at her and tilted his arm so she could see the bracelet jutting out of his sleeve before swiftly bringing in his arms, whilst letting go of hers. She still hadn't told him that move had impressed her back when she was a child. It was the move that made her instantly realize who she had tried to rob, a move that displayed what he was capable of and, at the same time, displace whatever items she could have possibly stolen. All in the flick of his wrist.

She held his wrist now, tapping it lightly and wondering how that one move would have evolved to something harsher, swifter in executing justice upon his civilians. Its shape was still there, but the exterior had become rougher over the years. One thing remained the same though.

Her hand still fit perfectly in.

It was almost as if their palms had grown around each other, their fingers interlocking and fitting like a puzzle piece. The tones of their hands had even matched. Hers had grown lighter, his darker. She remarked this to T'Challa who laughed and pointedly said he had spent too much time outside, and she, inside. They shared a moment before glancing at the two men at the medical bay as Bucky was being examined by the doctor. Rogers now, instead of a smile, held his lips straight, eyes distant and brows lowered. His friend, typically meeting his eyes, was now staring out the window. Clearly, something had transpired between the two whilst T'Challa and her were occupied.

Seeing her quizzical look, her husband nudged her elbow. His way of asking her to investigate deeper without saying a word, as sometimes, they would need to; in meetings, at functions, or simply when they wanted to play around with others. In this case, it was to see if she could read the situation from afar. She let out some air but complied. Looking at the way the staff seemed unbothered by the exchange, she guessed that it wasn't some small squabble, nor was it something that made the two upset at each other, just perhaps, uncertain of where or how to move forward. As if one of them had made a decision to...oh...

She whispered her answer in her spouse's ear, leaning forward and tip-toeing slightly. He responded with a "ting-ting". She stepped backwards and rolled her eyes, half-hitting him for that attempt to mimic some sort of game show. This Queen was not having it today.

If it was a game-show, should she get some prize?

T'Challa looked at her thoughtfully, before giving her a peck on the forehead. She nearly squealed but held it in. Monroe protested that others would have seen that. He scoffed, since when did she care about that. He was the one who would care about their public image and besides, she seemed to like this sort of thing more than he did. The Wakandan King turned his attention to Steve, watching him to discern if he was taking the news well. His cold blue eyes were staring at the diagnosis on the screens, unsure of what half those words meant. He caught his gaze for a moment, before smiling and returning to perusing the screens.

In the brief moment that their stares met, he realized that Zeemo was right; his eyes were a soft blue with a hue of green in them. Much like the way sunlight glinted off cold steel.

No, not steel. Vibranium.

And his gaze bore semblance to his stature. For he was a steely man. The Wakandans would have called him a "lion-herder". He eyed him once more, before turning his gaze to face the window. Glancing across his kingdom, he eyed the greenery before him; the emerald serenity a false sense of calm and poverty. The Westerners typically associated jungles with impecunious desperation and it was a stereotype that they were able to take advantage of. For within the gargantuan trees and muddy rivers was hid a trove of ambitious sufficiency, a vibranium emporium untouched by Caucasians' hands, let alone, footsteps. The only thing that could have made the sights before him better was when the sun rose over the horizon, lucidly painting the typical greenscape and silvery structures with rosegolds and auburns, not forgetting the rare, but ever so beautiful, purple.

The thought of his empire...his empire...a kingdom he could call his own. It was a tragic thought if it was pressed further, but on the surface, he knew that thought thrilled him. He had expected to be scared, to be trembling at the idea of having to add his stone to the monumental foundation that was Wakanda. His father's pride, his grandfather's pride and the fathers' before him as well. To add a page in this volume of history. It was a dreadful thought, one that reigned in his emotions and circled his core. But it was this kind of pressure that kept his mind clear, that grounded him. It served as an anchor, not weight, keeping him from drifting into selfishness and corruption and binding him to the promise of guarding his nation.

That and the fact that he had a family of his own now. Ororo. Sure, Shuri and Mama were individuals he would have laid his life down for, but Monroe? He'd do much more than that. It was different. Marriage. A bond so strong, it was rumoured that both parties could almost hear each other's thoughts. Yet, there were times his lady would surprise him. Sometimes pleasantly, other times, not so. But it served to show that there were mysteries about her he had yet to uncover. It was a challenge he enjoyed, reading into other people. And he was never one to retreat from a challenge.

And to tell the truth, he and Ororo needed some too.

They needed to keep their minds well-oiled, their brains swift and sharp. They needed to keep their relationship tethered tightly, woven as tapestry from the Shamaan tribes. He gripped her hand suddenly, reminded of the oaths they swore to each other before the nations prying eyes and all the promises whispered within the walls of their room. Most were kept, some had been broken and a rare few were forgotten. But the oath they made as husband and wife, Prince and Princess, lovers and admirers still stood, rooted deep within each others' hearts.

Honestly, he never imagined he would be married. Nor did he ever imagine one day he'd be King. And yet here he was.

No, he thought. Here we are.

"You're so sentimental today." Ororo trilled.

He pursed his lips. Why did she always have to be so playful?

"He's coming over now. His friend is asleep." She remarked.

The couple turned slightly to face the tall Caucasian. T'Challa stared at the plains beyond him, Monroe turned and shook his hand, not letting go of her husband's in the meanwhile. Steve nodded slightly and tilted his gaze up to the Wakandan King. Ororo smiled. She was beautiful as always.

"If you want to speak to my husband alone, just ask."

T'Challa gingerly released her hand and gave it a kiss before she trailed away, hovering lightly to the door. No doubt, she had decided to go back to her duties; he knew from the way she straightened herself and held her head inches higher. Power-posing as he had once taught her to do. Majestically, she turned and flew out of the room, regally nodding to the guards who followed behind, saluting their King as they made their way out. Well, soon-to-be King.

Whichever way the ceremony turned out, he found it a relief that she would always support him. She had been by his side ever since they began courting each other. She had supported him as he undertook strict regimes to prepare himself for the mantle of the throne, unleashing pep talks after his tutors had finished. And unlike the lectures he had gotten from his tutors, hers seemed to motivate him much more than theirs ever did.

He watched her leave, then turned to the misty scenery before him, the green sights a feast for his eyes. Throughout the years, she had evolved to be a woman who was confident and respectable and for that, he was grateful. She gave up her home in the United States to be with him, that was something he appreciated the most.

But whether it was when she had arrived for their marriage ceremony, or when she strolled past the hallways, one thing was certain.

She still fit perfectly in.

It was almost as if she had grown up here and never left. The way she walked, the way she spoke...it was as if she had always stayed in Wakanda for all her adolescent years. No X-Men, no Storm, just Ororo. It was only because Nakia, who found her outside their borders, convinced her to return that they began to realise what the future could hold for the two of them.

"She's a gem." The Captain remarked.

He nodded curtly.

"That she is."

The blonde man stared at whatever T'Challa had been glancing at, the emerald sea lined with silver waves of mist and fog. The only other gem that T'Challa held dear to his heart besides Ororo. He eyed the man as he shifted uneasily, expression grim at what had just transpired between his friend, a long-time ally he had been longing to return to, and himself, a long-time soldier seemingly caught up in battles he never wanted to start, let alone end. Of course, once he did start one though, he would be sure to end it on his terms...if not...he'd fight back.

"Thank you...for this"

T'Challa looked away to face the window. Establishing eye contact with the man was not ideal now, not when he had to take his mind off of reality and sink into his thoughts. Thoughts about the past and his life as Steve Rogers and nothing more, with Bucky by his side, ready to defend the nation and each other against Nazis, bullies or commanders too harsh. Thoughts about the future, where he could go and hide, what he should do from here on out and how to reconcile Tony and himself, to bring the team back...if he was even thinking about the team at all. Times like this, it was hard to tell. Neither was it T'Challa's place to ask.

"Your friend and my father, they were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace..."

Then what?

He'd find peace too? He'd maintain this reputation as a gracious and noble dignitary? No, that was selfish of him to say. And had he really helped Bucky find peace? Or was he just letting Bucky's own fears of becoming a monster fester and excuse him from the line of duty? But the Captain didn't need those thoughts now. He needed reassurance. So the King let his sentence trail off...unfinished yet somehow, completely perfect for this situation.

"You know..." the Captain piped up, "If they find out he's here, they'll come for him."

T'Challa smirked. Had the Captain thought so little of his country and its resources? There was no way that the American government was able to discover the technological empire of Wakanda's existence, how much more finding the location of an old man...a fugitive who would have zero contact with the outside world. No, that would be impossible.

And even if they did...he lifted a finger and tapped it lightly against his beard, the smirk on his face fading as his mouth became a thin line.

"Let them try."