Ch. 18
On Board the Statesman
Day 3
Tony watched the hologram floating over the casket as its imagery cycled again. It had taken the Nova Prime nearly an hour to scare up the closest match they could find on Xandar for their destroyed navigational computer. That had given them more than enough time to recover the crumpled remains of Rhodes's body.
The original plan had been to take the various bodies they'd accumulated back to Earth for a proper funeral. Then their hyperdrive issues had cropped up. Steve had decided that they couldn't let that unresolved issue fester in their minds for a month. So, they'd held the funeral aboard ship. There would be a bigger one of course, once they got back. Assuming they had time.
It wasn't the only casket in the room either. Heimdall's lay to Tony's left, its black casing trimmed in the gold that had once been his armor. The hologram over it replayed all the relevant moments of his last battle.
They hadn't tried the same treatment with Rhodes's; it was just a shiny black metal casket big enough for the suit. Its only ornamentation came from the suit's helmet melted into a disk and affixed to the center. To Tony's right lay an empty green and black casket for Clint, the man Tony had guilted into a suicide mission.
Only Clint's didn't have a hologram floating above, depicting his final moments. They had no information on his last moments, if he was even dead. They didn't even know if he'd succeeded at all.
Tony looked between the cases and all he could think was that there would be more before this was done.
The recording of Rhodes's last act started again for the unknownth time, drawing Tony's mind from the nebulous future back into the morbid present. He glanced back to the recording. Even as he wallowed in his own guilt, he couldn't help but marvel at his friend's courage.
"You got your Warmachine story," Tony said quietly to a friend who could no longer hear.
The door at the back of the room hissed open before he could say anything else. "I figured you'd still be in here," Natasha said disdainfully, stepping into the room. Tony didn't move. He gave no reaction to her presence, or her words at all.
She was just starting to wonder if he'd fallen asleep when that urge to get the last word finally won out over his grief. "Is there somewhere else I should be?" Tony asked in a dull voice, without turning around.
"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied with a hard edge to her voice. "The coliseum is finished. Friday's posted the first day's schedule."
"I'm up already?" he asked, mildly surprised.
"Versus Steve."
Tony turned an interrogating look on her, but everything about Natasha's body language and face suggested she was being dreadfully honest. He could also tell she didn't like it either.
"Remind me to have a talk with Friday about her sense of humor," Tony replied, turning back to the front of the room. He went back to watching the hologram over Rhodes's casket.
She waited nearly a full minute, but Tony gave no indication of moving. "You coming?" she asked pointedly.
"Seems like a bad idea."
"Why?"
"Are you kidding?" Tony demanded, half turning to her again. "Last time we fought I nearly killed him. I would have if Friday hadn't been adjusting the suit's limiters down."
"There were extenuating circumstances," Natasha pointed out.
"Losing control is not an extenuating circumstance," Tony replied.
"Damn it, Tony," she snapped, taking a few more steps into the room "you are not the only responsible party in this group."
"No, I'm the irresponsible party," Tony ground out. "I make decisions and people die. People listen to me and they die. Or they end up a cripple," he added bitterly before turning back to his case in point. "Then they die. But not me," he almost whispered. "I get to go on, so I can make more bad decisions. So other p-" he started before she cut him off
"Decisions like trusting the big green guy?" Nat asked pointedly. "Or creating Vision? Decisions like hand delivering a hot thermo-nuclear warhead to an enemy fleet, or risking yourself to vaporize a robot made meteor? Decisions like rolling with the punches while keeping one hand on the wheel with the accords?" she added.
"Yeah that worked out well," Tony replied sarcastically.
"So, you're not perfect," Nat snapped. "Get over it. None of us are. We're just not so arrogant as to expect perfection from ourselves. We make the best decisions we can. And when we make a mistake, we do our best to learn from it instead of wallowing in the fact that we made one."
"Tell me that when you've killed Steve," Tony countered.
"Really?" she asked incredulously, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not aware of you killing any of us. Thor ordered Heimdall to stay on the ship," she said, gesturing to his casket. "And, as I recall, you disagreed with Rhodes's choice."
Tony shook his head. "It was a false choice. A false choice pushed onto him by my ineptness and his honor."
"Which makes it no less his choice," she ground out, suddenly angry. "Nor does it make it any less than the choice he would have made," she added. "Look at him," she added, gesturing to the hologram. "You had nothing to do with it, except that you were his friend that he wanted to keep safe."
"I suppose you'd say the same about Clint?" he asked.
Natasha's eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you think you had to do with his choice?" she asked confused.
"How about guilting him into a suicide mission," Tony snapped.
"I hate to break it to you Tony, but I really don't think Clint cared what you thought of him," she replied.
"His last words made it damned clear he went on that mission because of his guilt over dragging Wanda into this mess," Tony said.
"Wrong," Nat said with Neutronium in her voice. "He felt guilty. And he went on the mission. The two are not related." Tony didn't reply. "What; you thought he'd kill himself just to look better in your eyes?" she demanded. "News flash Tony," she continued "he didn't do it for you. He didn't do it for Wanda either. He did what he did for his family. He did it to try and keep them safe. You had nothing to do with it."
She took a breath before continuing. "Rhodes and Clint were not children. They made their choices. Not you. Don't you dare take that away from them." Tony flinched at that. The idea that, by taking responsibility for their actions he might in fact be stealing something from same, hadn't even occurred to him. He couldn't refute that either. The two went hand in hand.
"I didn't know Rhodes very well," Natasha continued softly "but I knew Clint. And I know he wouldn't want you to blame yourself for his choice."
"I'd like to believe that," Tony admitted softly.
"Why don't you?" Natasha asked curiously.
"Because the person saying it is one of the few people in this world who's successfully pulled the wool over my eyes," he replied bluntly.
Natasha's face squinted in confusion momentarily before she realized what he was talking about. For a short time, she'd worked undercover as Tony's secretary for Fury. It hadn't even been that long an assignment; certainly not long enough for someone with her experience to trip themselves up. But apparently Tony had never gotten over the idea that she could lie convincingly to him.
"I didn't fool you, Tony," she admitted. "I knew from your dossier that I couldn't. I just . . . misdirected your attention."
"What the hell does that mean?" Tony asked.
Nat shrugged. "You were terrified of hurting Pepper," she explained. "All I had to do was bat my eyelashes at you a few times and all you saw when you looked at me was your old tomcatting behavior. I didn't stop you from seeing me for what I was. You stopped yourself. You stopped yourself because, whatever you were in the past, you've become a good man."
Again, Tony didn't reply. She understood that response, probably better than he did; before he became Ironman he'd seen himself as a good man making the world a better place for everyone. Then he'd come face to face with the fact that he'd been being used by an evil man. A reasonable person would have taken from that revelation the moral that they must make people earn their trust. But Tony . . . Tony had simply learned not to trust. Then she'd come along and reinforced that feeling.
"I'm sorry Tony," she said suddenly. "I was just doing my job. Fury knew something was wrong but he didn't know what. He was worried about you."
"He never struck me as the sentimental type," Tony replied laconically.
She shrugged. "He hides it as best he can, but that's not why he assigned me. He knew we needed you. We still do."
"I . . ." Tony started. He'd been about to warn her that he couldn't be trusted, but he wasn't so sure now. He wanted to believe her. Who doesn't want to believe the good things people say about them? But his track record said otherwise.
"I know it's cliché," Nat said "but let me ask you this; what would Rhodes have wanted you to do?"
Tony shrugged. "He'd have told me to get off my ass," he said without even having to think about it. Lord knew he'd heard those words from the man enough times in life. "That man didn't know how to quit," he added.
"Something to think about," she said pointedly. She started to say more, but decided against it. You can only push a person so far. They have to come the rest of the way themselves. "I'll tell Steve you were busy," she said instead, turning to go.
"Natasha," Tony said, stopping her midturn.
"Yes?" she asked, an inquisitive look on her face. Tony hadn't called her by her first name since he'd learned her identity. It was always Agent Romanov, or a variation of Black Widow, or once, 'hey you'. Never by her name. That was important, though she wasn't sure why.
"How do you do it?" Tony asked, finally turning all the way around and making eye contact with her.
"How do I do what?" she asked, even more confused.
"Fight so far out of your weight class," Tony elaborated. "You're like a twelve-year-old climbing into the ring with a professional heavyweight boxer."
She nearly made a flip comment about how that analogy made her seem ineffective, but the strangely serious look in his eyes stopped her. She'd never seen that look in Tony before. It was more than just serious; it was fear. It was the look of a man who'd conquered all, be it engineering, science, women, or villains, for his entire life up until now. It was the look of a man who'd lost more than just friends; he'd lost that arrogant confidence in his ability to find a solution to any problem.
As infuriating as that confidence had been on occasion, a part of her mourned its loss.
She sighed instead. "Tony, you like to blame yourself for the people you couldn't save," she said. "You have no idea what it's like to actually murder someone. You've never held ultimate power over a life. You've never chosen to exercise that power. I-" she started before pausing to collect herself. She could speak flippantly about this subject. She could skirt its edges. She could use it to get an enemy to reveal his secret plan. But she'd never spoken frankly about it. It was far harder than she'd thought to simply lay the horrors she was responsible for out for judgement.
"Not all of the targets I was payed to kill were good people," she continued "but there were enough of them. I owe it to them to make some sort of positive impact in their place."
Tony's brow furrowed in skepticism. "Helping to save the world a couple of times didn't balance the ledger?" he asked her.
She gave a slight grin. "That's what Fury said," she replied. Then she gave a little half shrug. "I guess . . . it's what put me on the team, but it's not why I'm still here." Another little pause. "I guess I've continued to fight because . . . because, somewhere along the way this group of misfits became my family. I fight because doing any less would be another betrayal. I've had my share of those," she added, looking away from him in shame.
"I guess that makes you the good person in this conversation," Tony replied pointedly.
Nat turned back to him. "Tony, everyone has something they're dealing with," she ground out angrily. "The difference is, some of us don't feel sorry for ourselves while we're doing it," she added before turning, again, to stomp out.
Again, Tony's voice stopped her, though this time she'd made it far enough to trigger the door. "You make it sound so easy," he said quietly. She twisted around, preparing another shot at his self-pity, only to find that he'd turned back to the front of the room. She wasn't even sure the comment had been for her.
"T'Challa, Gamora, and I are organizing an evening self-defense class in the coliseum," she said, forcing the indignant rage his remark had sparked back down. Tony didn't reply. "I want you to attend," she added, still gaining no response. Then she left.
"Who are we still waiting for?" Drax asked impatiently. Whatever this particular team meeting was about it was interfering with his first bout in the brand-new coliseum.
"We're waiting for Peter," Steve said. As far as anyone knew, he and Tony were the only ones that knew what this meeting was about.
"Um, right here," Quill said raising a hand.
"The other Peter," Tony replied shortly.
"I'm right here," that worthy said, jogging into the room "I was in the shower when the call came in," he offered as explanation for his tardiness. On closer inspection they could see the clothes he was wearing sticking slightly to his skin.
"No doubt spitting webs all over the place," Quill replied with a playful grin.
Parker missed it completely. "No, I don't make webbing with my body," he informed them. He got as far as "That comes from-" before the various looks of amusement confronting him registered. "Oh, ha, ha," he said, clearly not amused. The only two not amused to some extent were Tony and Steve.
Tony reached forward and activated the screen, preempting the spontaneous banter session before it could get going. It wasn't that he was worried about protecting Peter; the kid could hold his own against any of them just fine, verbally or physically. He just wasn't in the mood.
All amusement vanished from the room like air from a basketball hit by Mjolnir as Thanos's face filled the screen. Even as a digital representation, the man was intimidating. What's worse, he seemed to know it. He waited, deliberately, eyes roaming over those in the pickup, until that aura of his had permeated the room before speaking. In the background they could hear the faint sounds of his ship groaning and rumbling. And almost lost in those were the sounds of screams, no doubt for ambiance.
Once the effect of his visage had finished, he grinned. It was not a pleasant grin. "I must say you surprised me," he said in an almost complimentary tone. But, if Gamora and Nebula's reaction to same was any indication, it wasn't. Both of them had subconsciously gone stiff. Well, stiffer than they'd become when they'd first viewed their father's likeness.
"I never expected any of you to show the strength to send one of your own to die," he continued. "Except my girls of course," he added. "And they would have known the futility of such a move."
"Who says we sent anyone anywhere?" Tony asked cryptically.
Thanos grinned. "A pathetic deception," he said as his image was replaced by Clint's suit battering its way through the interior walls of a spaceship. "Unless, you suggest this is not one of your medieval suits of armor," he added as it careened off of a structural member. It picked itself up and began bashing through more walls. A few seconds later it arrived in a large room. There was the briefest hint of a white-hot explosion emanating from the suit before the camera feed died.
Steve glanced at Tony. The other man's face had taken on a rigid look. He wasn't surprised. Natasha had warned him that the engineer blamed himself for pushing Clint into that mission. He'd added his own assurances to hers that -Tony's self-ridicule or no- Clint would have made the same choice. And, to his credit, Tony had seemed to accept that. But apparently the self-recrimination track was a hard one to stop running around on. By now the grooves had no doubt been worn several meters down.
"Yes, that's our man," Steve admitted solemnly.
"A wasted effort," Thanos gloated. "As all of your efforts have been. I will not be stopped, least of all by a group of puny insects like you."
"You seem stopped at the moment," Tony observed. "And all it took was the effort of one puny insect."
"A minor delay," Thanos returned, waving his hand as if to dismiss the statement. "I have waited centuries to complete this task. A few more weeks is an insignificant moment in comparison." Then he cocked his head. "However, I guarantee it will feel like an eternity to one Son of Asgard," he added.
Thor flinched, as if he'd been physically assaulted by those words. But it wasn't the words; it was the realization of who the screams in the background of Thanos's transmission belonged to. He took a step forward without thinking about it, his entire body puffed up as much as possible. Nearly any other being in the galaxy would have been intimidated by that posture. Several of those in the room felt intimidated, and they weren't even the target of the glare that came with it.
Thor opened his mouth to demand Thanos stop torturing his brother, then closed it. It would have done no good. Worse, it would have amused the monster on the other end of the conversation.
Instead he glared at the image on the screen with such intensity it was a shock that the monitor didn't melt. Every fiber of his being demanded he do something to stop Loki's suffering. If Thanos had been there he'd have thrown himself at him, heedless of any personal danger.
But, Thanos was not there, and in the end, there was nothing Thor could do for his brother. What's worse, it was clear Thanos was greatly enjoying how deeply this attack had cut into Thor. He seemed to savor the other man's feeling of powerlessness.
Which only infuriated the Asgardian even more. Which only amused Thanos even more. In the end, Thor did the only thing he could do. He left. He stomped to the other side of the room, well outside the pickup range of the camera they were using, and began to pace back and forth like a caged animal. An uncomfortable silence followed in his wake.
Steve cleared his throat. "Speaking of wasted," he said. "Isn't torturing a prisoner just to manipulate his brother a bit self-defeating?" He couldn't say he felt very sorry for Loki. The Asgardian Frost Giant Prince had made his own bed with Thanos. He simply objected to the torture of anyone for any means.
Thanos grinned. "It never hurts to remind your subjects who's in charge," he replied in mock defensiveness.
"I think it does," Steve said. "I think evil is doomed to fail. It fails because, the worse it is, the more people it unites against itself."
"Good and evil are mere constructs built by feeble minds looking for any way to excuse a lack of spine," Thanos replied philosophically.
"Maybe, but they are very powerful constructs," Steve said. "Constructs that have smote others that felt that way."
Thanos leaned closer to his camera's pickup. "We'll see if you still think that in a month," Thanos replied menacingly. "When I get to Earth the final stone will be delivered unto me," he said in a tone suggesting pure confidence in his predictions. "And then, I will kill everyone you and your robotic knight ever cared about. You will return to your planet to find only ruin and death," he promised. Then the feed went dark.
No one spoke. Even Thor stopped pacing. Tony and Steve went as rigid as Gamora and Nebula had earlier. They couldn't help but picture every person they cared about, every person whose head had just been put on the chopping block. Many of them were in this very room.
"Alright, what was that all about?" Rocket asked, breaching the silence.
"He wanted us to feel helpless," Gamora explained. "He wanted us to see that we couldn't stop him."
Steve stirred. "Which suggests that we worry him," he stated.
"That's ridiculous," Nebula grated.
"It stands to reason," Tony replied through that look of horror. "Otherwise, why go through the effort to try and intimidate us?"
"Because he enjoys it," Nebula stated bluntly.
Natasha gave half a head shake. "It seemed like more than that," she said. "What if Clint rattled him?" she asked.
Nebula rolled her eyes. "You haven't the first clue of whom you speak of," she stated.
"Perhaps," Steve replied evenly "but that doesn't mean she's wrong."
"When's the last time anyone was able to breach his security and sabotage The Sanctuary Two?" Sam asked pointedly.
Gamora blinked at that question. Now that he asked, she didn't think she'd ever heard of such an event. People had tried before of course. None had ever gotten close to succeeding. Several were now part of the family even now.
She glanced at Nebula for help but the blank expression on the Luphoid's face said it all. "I don't think anyone ever has," Gamora admitted slowly.
Natasha picked the narrative back up. "So, Clint subverts his security, skulks around on board his ship for over two days, and then sabotages his main drive," she said pointedly. "I don't know about you but that would worry me."
"You think he's worried Clint might have sabotaged other systems before destroying the drive?" Scott asked.
Natasha shrugged. "That's probably what prompted the call."
"Wait, what?" Quill asked, a frown on his face. "Back up. A minute ago, you thought Thanos called because your buddy's success at blowing himself up made him nervous. Now you think he called because he thought Barton might have sabotaged other systems? Which is it?"
"He called because he thought we sent Barton on his mission," T'Challa said, breaking his habitual silence. "He cannot conceive of anyone sacrificing themselves for another because he would never do so. He knows about Agent Barton's mission to sabotage his engines. He wanted to know what other orders he might have carried out first. I fear that he was able to read that there were none."
"I'm sure that's part of it," Natasha said "but think about it; one man did all that," she added, emphasizing those first two words.
Tony shook his head. "Not one man," he said, leaning forward "two." He glanced around the room, waiting for someone to catch his meaning, an intense look in his eyes. For that single moment everything that had been hanging on him was pushed back behind the euphoria of having decrypted what Thanos had been trying not to tell them.
"Loki," Thor said slowly, almost as if he was having trouble believing it himself.
"No way," Banner said forcefully. "That guy wouldn't stick his neck out for anyone."
"Normally I'd agree," Tony replied. "But he did. Thanos said it himself. He was 'reminding him who was in charge'. He wasn't torturing Loki as a way of getting back at Thor for something Clint did."
"He was using the fact that he was already punishing him to get under Thor's skin," Steve said.
"Yes, but that's beside the point," Tony said. "Steve hit the nail square on the head when he was talking to him. Two people that no one in their right mind would have ever expected to work together allied against him. That's what's got him nervous." He glanced from face to face around the room. Most seemed to get it, or at least be willing to entertain the notion. Gamora seemed uncertain, and Nebula . . .
"You're all insane," she grated before stomping out the door.
"All things considered, if that's sanity, I think I'd rather stay insane," Scott said after she'd left.
Gamora cast a quick, but vehement glare his direction. "She may well be correct," she said evenly. "This could all be wishful thinking."
"I think he's right," Steve said. "It would explain a lot."
"That's because you don't know what you're talking about," Gamora snapped. "Loki's been part of the family for over two weeks now. No one-" she started before Thor cut her off.
"Loki is not a part of Thanos's family," he said harshly.
"Yeah, because all his other children chose to be there," Rocket replied pointedly.
"Mind what you say rodent," Thor said threateningly.
"Do we really have time to argue about semantics here?" Tony asked, catching the Asgardian's gaze with a look.
Thor paused for a second, visibly deflating. "No, and I am sorry," he rumbled, making sure to indicate both Gamora and Rocket with a dip of the head.
Gamora stopped, flustered. Thor's about face had caught her off guard. She wasn't sure how she'd expected him to react to Tony's question, but backing down certainly wasn't it. No one in The Guardians would have capitulated that easily. The shortest time between being proven wrong and admitting it was three days for any of them, and that had been Mantis.
"Um," she started again, searching for her space. "As I was about to say, the first thing Thanos does is break your will to resist. Most don't last three days. I think Nebula took a full week."
"What about you?" Quill asked curiously.
She glanced at him, wondering if this was the time and place for that particular personal reveal. She decided it would take less time to just answer. "He didn't have to break me," she said, an element of bitterness in her voice. "I'm the only survivor of the Badoon's attempts to exterminate the Zen-Whoberi," she explained. "Thanos found me in the rubble of my world. He offered me the power to destroy them."
"Did you?" Drax asked in innocent curiosity.
But Gamora had decided that she'd revealed enough for the day. "As I was saying," she continued "none of Thanos's children could even imagine crossing him. They imagine dying. They imagine they're stuck in a nightmare they might wake from. They imagine going unnoticed for one day, but they certainly don't draw the worst kind of attention to themselves," she told them.
"Is it possible that others could even if you could not?" Thor asked, trying to be diplomatic for a change.
"You're not listening; no one ever has," Gamora said firmly.
"According to the records I've seen, no one's ever been taken to join the family as an adult either," Jarvis pointed out.
Gamora turned on him, but Quill beat her to the punch. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?" he asked.
"Children tend to be more malleable, less stubborn, than adults," he replied.
Which was completely irrelevant; Gamora knew that. If anything, being more stubborn would only have accelerated Loki's descent into insanity. But she could also see that they wouldn't listen to her. They needed to believe Loki had kept his own mind. And, perhaps it was best to just leave it at that for now.
So, instead of continuing along that dried up vein she turned to Steve and Tony. "Alright assuming your correct, what does it mean for us?" she asked.
"It means we have learned three things," Jarvis replied. "One: Agent Barton was indeed successful in crippling the drive on The Sanctuary Two. Two: It will take roughly a month for Thanos to get to Earth. Three: his greatest concern revolves around our ability to work together."
"Great, so we've learned that he's angry, and he's getting to Earth at the same time as us," Quill replied acerbically. "I feel so much better."
"I meant what do we do now," Gamora replied through gritted teeth.
"Get back to it," Steve said, standing up. "If teamwork is what he's afraid of then that's what we work on." Everyone else stood as well, taking his motion as an indication that the meeting was over.
"Finally," Drax said, heading towards the exit closest to the coliseum.
"Thanks for the meeting guys," Rocket said sarcastically as he hopped down from his chair. "It's really helped to cement the phobia of team chats I was working on," he added, gaining a grin from several of the departing participants of same.
Steve shot a questioning glance at Tony. The latter shrugged and said "Team meetings have a habit of going poorly. They usually don't impart any stellar news either."
Steve thought for a moment. "Maybe we'll do a pot luck at some point," he offered, earning a surprised grin from the engineer.
"One of the first things you learn in any martial art is how to fall," Natasha said. She, T'Challa, and Gamora were standing in the center of the ovular arena Friday had finished the day before. The class, which consisted of everyone but Nebula, Tony, and Bruce, was spaced evenly about the perimeter. Banner was still present, but watching from the raised stands occupying one of the long ends of the oval. Even Barnes was there, even though Stark hadn't finished his new arm.
"I don't know about you guys, but no one had to teach me how to fall," Quill quipped to the room at large. "It was pretty much intuitive."
"But did you intuit how to fall without hurting yourself?" Gamora asked, one eyebrow arched slightly.
Quill shrugged. "I never got worse than a skinned knee, I don't know about the rest of you," he said defiantly.
"Perhaps you could-" T'Challa started before being cut off.
"Tony," Natasha said, sounding surprised. Everyone followed her gaze to one of the entrances flanking the stands. The engineer was standing in the entrance itself, as if he hadn't made up his mind on whether or not he wanted to come in.
He hadn't shown up for his bout with Steve, but she hadn't expected that. Even if he had listened to her, it was going to take more than a couple of minutes for that about face.
"You're late," Gamora said sternly.
Tony gave a half shrug. "I had to run down a problem with Sergeant Barnes's prosthesis," he offered.
T'Challa raised his voice to ensure all present could hear him. "Martial Arts revolves around discipline," he said, looking at Tony. "Discipline requires the keeping of commitments. When you show up late you not only miss training, but you interrupt the training of others."
"Discipline also demands a respect for others and your impact on them," Natasha continued. "When you are late you disrespect student and teacher alike. From here on everyone is expected to make the commitment to be here on time." No one responded. "I mean everyone," she continued, rotating on one foot to make eye contact with each person present. "That includes instructors as well," she added.
T'Challa took the hint. "I commit myself to being here on time," he said aloud to the entire room.
They both glanced to Gamora. There was a moment's hesitation before she too made that commitment. The hesitation hadn't been from an unwillingness to make the commitment, so much as a failure to understand the need. Thanos's children learned very quickly that being late simply was not an option.
Steve made the commitment next, a verbal contract that began to work its way around the room. Tony's was last.
"Then enter," T'Challa said formally.
Tony stepped forward, somewhat uneasily. He wasn't sure why he'd come at all. Now he was even less sure he wanted to stay. It was all so rigid and formal. He tended to chafe within such atmospheres. Said atmospheres usually chaffed at his presence too.
"Gracious of you, seeing as I built the place," he said sarcastically, as he reached the perimeter of the room. He stayed with his back to the door, as if comforted by the proximity to an escape route. Steve leaned out of ranks enough to shoot Tony a glare.
"Technically, all you did was give the okay for your AI to build it," Quill commented.
"Where were we?" Natasha asked, interrupting the byplay.
"I believe Gamora was about to demonstrate the value of falling practice to Quill," Tony observed.
"Ah, yes, that was it," Natasha replied, seemingly happy about the prospect. "Gamora?" she then asked.
"Peter?" Gamora asked. Now it was the space rogue's turn to look uneasy. He glanced quickly around the room, as if searching for an inspiring reason to avoid being Gamora's practice dummy. When none was forthcoming, he stepped hesitantly to the center of the room.
"Okay, just don't-" he started before the green woman grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hurled him across the room. He hit the ground in an uncontrolled tumble that ended abruptly as he slammed into the wall between Drax and Mantis. At the last second, he tried to catch himself against the vertical surface, earning a jammed shoulder for his trouble.
"Ahhg," he groaned as he got back to his feet, flapping the stunned appendage around like a drunken bird.
"If I'd thrown you harder, you'd have broken at least one bone," Gamora stated warningly.
"What exactly is the point of all this?" he demanded, clearly irritated. "I mean, how much can we possibly learn in a month?"
"I don't know about you, but I plan to get at least an orange belt," Steve called out, earning a stiff laugh from those raised on Earth.
"You've got some catch-up to do," Lang commented with a smug grin.
"Belts?" Gamora asked, brow furrowed in confusion.
"They are a western adaptation of eastern fighting styles on Earth," Vision explained from his position. "They help indicate how far a student has advanced in their chosen form."
Gamora's eyes narrowed. "Sounds like a waste of time," she commented.
"Oh, it is," Natasha said. "That's part of the reason we're not doing it."
"What? Why not?" Sam asked.
"Our goal is not to train you to be masters in our various fighting disciplines," T'Challa explained. "As Mr. Quill has pointed out, there simply is not time for that."
"Then what exactly are you trying to train us to do?" Lang asked, partly in curiosity, partly in disappointment.
"This," Gamora said before turning to Natasha. In one fluid motion she grabbed the pale redhead's belt with her right hand and the top of her leather jumpsuit with the left and hurled her in the same fashion as she had Quill just a moment before.
But, instead of tumbling to an uncontrolled stop against a convenient wall, Natasha righted herself in the air. She landed on both feet, rolling once. Mid-roll she pushed off the ground with her shoulder, using the added height and rotation to roll along the axis perpendicular to her movement. She landed again on her feet, leaning forward. But now she was staring the way she'd come and sliding to a controlled stop.
Everyone was impressed.
After a moment's silence Tony cleared his throat. "Not to belittle Agent Romanov's feats of acrobatics," he began "but I doubt even the slowest of us will take a month to learn that."
"I should hope not," Gamora retorted while Natasha walked back to the center of the room.
"What you have just witnessed is more than simply an impressive display of tumbling," T'Challa explained. "It is a microcosm for our goals here. As opposed to training you in any particular style we hope to teach you the core that stands at the center of all martial arts: economy of motion, how to strike, and how to take a hit. As well, our goal is to train you to analyze your opponent's fighting styles; to try and anticipate their actions, and how to compensate when you fail to do so.
"After the first week we'll divide the class into three dojos," Natasha said, taking over the course syllabus. "You will train with your dojo and spar with members of the other two. Every week you'll swap dojos. As you go, we hope you will add pieces of each art to your own fighting style. Again, our goal is not for you to master any style, but to become used to confronting unknown styles and adapting to them."
"Any more questions?" Gamora asked tersely. It was clear that she felt there shouldn't be any questions at all. Their job was to learn, not question. But the other two seemed to be taking this interrogation in stride, as if things worked differently on Earth.
"Just one," Rocket said, raising his hand. "Whose clambake idea was this?"
"That's half-baked idea," Quill put in. "In this case it seems more unbaked to me."
"It was my idea," T'Challa said, somehow short circuiting any other complaints. "But Gamora and Ms. Romanov helped to refine the approach," he added.
"Figures," Quill muttered.
"Alright, that's enough for the Q and A," Natasha said, catching the meaning behind Gamora's tone. "Let's get to it."
Day 4
"What was so important that it couldn't wait until morning?" Gamora demanded testily as she entered the bridge. Stark had the watch that night, which explained his presence. Rogers, and T'Challa did not.
The other three present glanced awkwardly at each other. "We may have a problem," Steve said eventually.
"We have a lot of problems," she replied evenly. "To which are you referring."
"Specifically, we're concerned about your boyfriend," Tony said bluntly. It was, after all, the only mode of communication available to him.
"He's not my boyfriend," she snapped automatically.
"Whatever your current relationship status," T'Challa replied "his behavior has become a cause for alarm."
"Alarm?" she asked in a surprised (and perhaps slightly amused) tone.
"As in danger," Tony supplied.
"I know what alarm means, thank you," Gamora replied tartly. "I fail to see why any of you would be alarmed by Quill."
"Primarily because we're not sure whose side he's on," Tony replied in kind.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Gamora demanded, all vestiges of sleepiness evaporating like water in an airlock.
Steve stepped forward, sparing a quick reproving look for Tony. "The more we've seen of him the more we've had to ask if he wasn't deliberately trying to sabotage our common goal," he said softly.
"Oh, this is ridiculous," Gamora declared, turning back the way she'd been led.
"He argues against every suggestion intended to advance that goal," Tony said to her retreating back. "He cooperates as grudgingly as possible with any decisions made by the group. He's overly critical of anyone from Earth, while refusing to criticize anyone from The Guardians."
"We know you've seen it too," Steve added. "We've watched you try to reign him in for half a week now."
Gamora's advance to the rear paused at that. She couldn't deny that Quill had been even more annoying than usual of late. She couldn't deny that he'd placed her in the role of peacekeeper. But she couldn't accept that he might be working for Thanos. Not Quill.
But nor could she deny it.
T'Challa spoke up, capitulating on the doubt her pause engendered. "There is a chasm, a mile wide, standing between those of us from Earth and those of us from the galaxy," he said. "And dead center of that Chasm is your . . . co-leader."
Gamora whipped around, glaring back at the assembled group. She opened her mouth to refute their allegations, but before she could get the first syllable out something occurred to her. Something that drained the color from her face.
"Ebony Maw," she said quietly.
The other three presented confused looks. "Come again?" Tony asked.
"Ebony Maw," she repeated. "He has this way of . . . making you think what he wants you to think, I guess. It's like, when you hear his voice in your head, it sounds almost like your voice. He can make you believe almost anything."
"I remember the dossier," Steve said. "What does he have to do with Quill's behavior?"
"He was on our ship with us for over a week, pretending to be an old man," Gamora said earnestly. "That's more than enough time to have converted Peter."
Steve was the first to respond. "So, you're saying that Quill may have been working as a spy for Thanos since before we met him?"
Gamora shrugged. "Possibly," she said, as noncommittally as possible.
Steve and T'Challa traded glances. "We can't let him roam free," Steve said.
"We can restrain him in his quarters," T'Challa suggested.
"Wait," Tony cut in, "before we start breaking out the bondage equipment, I have a few questions about this hypothesis." He turned to Gamora. "You're saying you had Thanos's silver tongue on your ship for a week?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And not one of you felt that might be some information you should have passed on?"
Gamora gave an embarrassed look. "It just never came up," she said with a shrug.
"What if it's not just Quill?" Steve asked. "According to the dossier he could have converted all of them."
"And you think Maw brainwashed Quill to sabotage our team up?" Tony asked, ignoring Steve's remark.
Gamora shrugged, arms crossed in front of her. "It's possible," she said.
"This being a team up that didn't even happen for another week, and only occurred out of random chance?" Tony asked pointedly.
Her eyes narrowed. "They're not robots," she said. "He doesn't program them to do a specific task. He wins them over to his side. They truly believe in his goals."
Tony made a face while he considered that. Then he shook his head. "No, it still doesn't work. He showed absolutely no indication that he was in Thanos's pocket during our last encounter."
"How sure are you of that Tony?" Steve asked. "I mean, no offence, but you aren't exactly known for being able to read people."
"Friday?" Tony asked amiably.
The computer's voice came over the intercom instantly. "After reviewing all surviving data regarding the confrontation in question, there is a ninety-eight point three percent chance that the subject is honestly working against the understood purposes of Thanos," she reported. "This evaluation has a margin of error of plus or minus point three percent."
"And yet, all of his actions since that fight seem to work in Thanos's favor," T'Challa observed.
"Is it possible Ebony Maw, or someone else with similar abilities, could have gotten on board the ship?" Steve asked.
Tony shook his head. "We perform random scans of the ship at least four times a day. It's highly unlikely a stowaway could have gone this long undetected."
"What if they were masked to look like one of us?" Gamora asked, remembering the holographic mask Maw had utilized to fool them.
"We'd still have read too many signatures," Tony replied with a slight shrug.
"Okay so we don't have a stowaway on board," Steve conceded. "We still have a threat to the mission aboard. We have to ascertain its nature and neutralize it."
"I assume you have some plan to go along with those lofty goals?" Tony asked. Steve did not reply.
"I'll get to the truth," T'Challa stated firmly. Tony and Steve traded a glance.
"How?" Tony asked.
"I will gain his measure," T'Challa replied, managing to answer their question without actually answering it. "You have a scheduled fight with him tomorrow, yes?" he asked Steve before anyone could point that out.
"At thirteen hundred," Steve said, unsure of the relation between the two.
"Go hard on him," T'Challa ordered, a tone of voice he'd rarely used since joining this merry band.
"Why?" Steve asked. He objected to hurting people just to hurt them on principle, and this sounded an awful lot like that.
"Angry people make poor liars," T'Challa said, heading for the exit. "It's why Mr. Stark is so bad at it," he added before turning down the corridor.
"Well, I guess we're dismissed," Tony said.
"I really want to thank you guys for all the sleep I'm about to not get," Gamora said darkly before turning back the way she'd come.
"Does everyone on this ship have to complain about something?" Steve asked Tony.
"Apparently so," Tony replied pointedly, a slight smile taking the bite out of that comment. Steve laughed out loud as he got Tony's point: that he'd been complaining about all the complaining.
Nebula found Gamora working out in the main gym. Being a rich man's pleasure yacht, it was completely outfitted. There were gravity weights, electronic machines, geared machines, and even a zero G arena. They were all pretty sure what the Grandmaster had used that last for. Needless to say, it hadn't been used on this trip.
As the two-tone woman walked in Gamora was using the most basic of exercise machines: the pullup bar. Nebula watched her sister effortlessly pulling herself up and down in steady repetition.
Gamora knew Nebula was there, but she wasn't in the mood for her sister's callous views on life. As promised, she'd failed to get any more sleep after the impromptu counsel of war she'd been summoned to. She couldn't help but worry about Peter. The more she thought about it the more she feared he'd been twisted against them by Maw. Some people never broke free of his influence after he'd finished with them.
"You're worried about Quill," Nebula stated. Gamora nearly slipped off of one of the handholds she was gripping.
"What do you mean?" She asked warily, wondering if Nebula had overheard their conversation.
"He has become uncertain with himself," Nebula stated.
"Uncertain with himself?" Gamora asked. "What the hell does that even mean?"
"He's your boyfriend," Nebula said pointedly.
Gamora rolled her eyes and dropped down from the bars to confront her sister. "What is it with you people?" she demanded incredulously. "We are not in a relationship."
Nebula watched her for a moment, as if gauging her sincerity. She understood Gamora's need to pretend she hadn't formed an emotional attachment with Quill. Such things were only weaknesses to be exploited.
In the end she decided to let the lie lay. "Be that as it may, you know him far better than I," she said instead. Gamora breathed in ever so slightly more than she had been. Anyone else would have missed the reaction to her words. But Nebula was not anyone else. With her enhanced sensory systems, the change was all but highlighted with neon lights.
"You know something," she stated firmly, taking a step towards Gamora. Gamora glanced away, looking for some excuse, some lie she could offer. She knew it was a hopeless effort, at best a weak stall tactic. She may have bested Nebula in the ring all throughout their childhood, but when it came to deception, she'd never been able to outwit the other woman.
Gamora's shoulder's slumped ever so slightly. "We think Ebony Maw may have converted him when he was on our ship," she admitted, not quite looking at Nebula.
The two-tone woman stared at Gamora until the object of her scrutiny looked back at her. "I'll kill him," she said finally. There was no malice, no anger, in that voice, just a simple declaration. She turned to leave, intent on carrying out that corrective action immediately.
"Nebula wait," Gamora called out, jogging to catch up. The Luphoid stopped, but did not turn around. Gamora stopped a meter from her sister.
"You plead for his life?" Nebula asked, both exhilarated at the omission of power she intrinsic to that act and disappointment that her sister could have fallen into such a state. It was as if she'd forgotten everything she'd been taught her entire life.
"You can't just kill him," Gamora insisted. "We don't even know if he's been turned."
"He is a threat."
"We don't know that yet," Gamora insisted.
"Will we ever know?" Nebula demanded.
"T'Challa is going to question him today. Hopefully he'll be able to find out what's going on."
"If he is working for Thanos he is a danger to us all," Nebula stated.
"It's not his fault," Gamora said, failing to keep the pleading tone completely out of her voice.
Nebula turned on her. "What's happened to you?" she demanded, a look of utter disappointment on her face. "You used to be strong. Now look at you; you plead for his life like the waifs we used to exterminate." Gamora didn't respond.
Nebula waited a few more seconds, then turned to leave. She should kill Quill. Even if Ebony hadn't twisted his mind, she should kill him. He was both distraction and weakness. She should kill him.
"You're right," Gamora conceded as she reached the threshold. Nebula stopped again, as if unsure if she'd heard Gamora correctly. "I do care about him," Gamora said, stepping up to Gamora. "I don't want to see him hurt. I won't let you kill him."
Nebula turned back around. "Do you see what your feelings have done to you?" she asked. "They keep you from doing what must be done. They slow your hand, make you weak."
"Yes," Gamora replied. "But they can also be a source of strength. They push us to attempt the impossible. They make us part of a greater whole."
"You're insane," Nebula stated as bluntly as a drop hammer to the face.
"Hasn't there ever been someone, one person that you cared about? That you would risk your life for?" Gamora asked softly.
In response Nebula stared at Gamora with that death cold expression. She opened her mouth to say it, to say the thing she'd wanted to say for so long. But she couldn't. Instead she closed her mouth, turned, and left.
"Nebula?" Gamora called after her. There was no response. Gamora knew better than to chase her. She was less sure of whether or not Nebula would carry through with her threats.
Day 5
Quill emerged from the dispensary door still rubbing his chest where Rogers's shield had impacted him. Despite the ministrations of the various automated systems it was still a bit sore.
"Rough session?" T'Challa asked from where he was leaning against the bulkhead. Quill's head snapped to the right as his eyes took in T'Challa's stance. Some people could pull off studied nonchalance, like they just happened to have stopped at that particular wall to think. Like it was just a coincidence, him slouching against the wall just as Quill emerged.
T'Challa was not one of those people. It was obvious he was there for a reason. He wanted something. Obviously, he wanted something from Quill. And Quill wasn't in the mood.
Of all the Earthers, the king was definitely Quill's favorite, but that wasn't saying much. Between the sulky Russian, the even more sulky inventor, the spy, the psychotic soldier, the annoying soldier, the crazy soldier, the mouth, and the mini-Thanos there wasn't much competition for the spot. Oh, and let's not forget the guy everyone was afraid to piss off. They were all a bunch of backwater wannabes as far as he was concerned. And he really didn't want to talk to any of them at the moment.
"Are there good sessions?" he asked pointedly before turning towards the opposite end of the corridor, hoping T'Challa would take the hint, knowing somehow that it wouldn't.
His pessimism was quickly rewarded. "You do not think much of the current training regimen," T'Challa observed, moving to walk with Quill.
"What the redneck tests of strength?" Quill replied sarcastically. "Who wouldn't get excited at the prospect of pummeling their allies every day for a month? The same allies, as it turns out, that he'll be needing at the end of that month."
"Are you still injured?" T'Challa asked, sounding slightly alarmed.
"That's not the point!" Quill growled, pivoting angrily to face T'Challa. "We're supposed to be on the same team, not acting like . . ."
"Ravagers?" T'Challa asked. He'd spent most of the morning looking up everything he could about Quill. He knew the man standing across from him had been kidnapped and raised by the ravagers, a loose band of mercenaries with varying cultures. He'd learned from Gamora how they'd taught him to fight. Apparently, it was a sore spot.
Quill shot T'Challa a surprised look, wondering how the other man knew about that. "Yeah," he admitted finally.
"And ravagers are . . . bad?" T'Challa asked
"Ravagers are a wolf pack," Quill said bluntly. "They only work together at all because one guy can't take down anything worthwhile. Of course, that doesn't mean one of them won't stab you in the back first chance he gets. You learn to sleep with one eye open and your hand on a blaster around them."
"I see," T'Challa said calmly. "And, since the Ravagers are bad, anything they do is?" T'Challa asked pointedly.
"No, but creating an environment of competition between people who are supposed to be on the same team only leads to distrust and eventually deceit. I know, I've lived it. Not that anyone listened when I tried to say as much," he added bitterly. "They just went on with this insane 'training' like I wasn't even there. I'm not sure why they even consult me on anything," he muttered glancing to the side as if something had caught his interest.
T'Challa stood there as the tumblers to this particular puzzle all fell into place. They'd been so worried that Quill had become suborned that it had blinded them to an obvious answer. Quill's statement made it clear; he wasn't working at cross purposes to the group. Well, he was, but not intentionally. But it wasn't the training regimen, or any fear of turning the ship into pirates, that was bothering him. He was worried he was losing his place as leader of the Guardians. Being the far smaller group, it made a paranoid kind of sense to expect them to be absorbed into the larger group. It certainly made enough sense for fear to start dictating his reactions.
In that light all of Quill's actions since they'd met took on a far less sinister role. His arguments against those from Earths' ideas had never been that convincing to T'Challa, but until this moment the king had been unable to figure out what was going on in the space rogue's head. Now he knew. But he was fairly certain Quill was unaware of his own motivations. People never like to admit they're giving counsel to their fears, even to themselves.
Most of the time it wasn't even worth trying to get them to see what was really going on in their heads. T'Challa made no pretenses at being a psychiatrist, nor did he have any interest in becoming one. Better to just let them work it out on their own.
Unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury in this case. They had but one month to meld this array of groups and subgroups into a cohesive team, and at the moment Quill was standing dead center of that effort.
The only question was, how was he to get Quill to see it?
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch Gamora pound Wade's face in," Quill said, turning back the way he'd been going. T'Challa redoubled his efforts to find an avenue of attack, a dialogue that might get Quill to see what was really going on. But all he could think of was the direct approach.
He shrugged. Very well, if that was all he had.
"How long have you been leader of The Guardians?" T'Challa called out just before Quill could make it to the next turn. Quill stopped. He twisted around, presenting an interrogative expression.
"What does that have to do with anything?" he demanded.
"How long?" T'Challa repeated evenly.
Turned back around. "Oh, here it comes," he said stomping back to T'Challa. "I knew it wouldn't be long before one of you started insisting I step down. Well you listen to me," Quill continued pushing a finger into T'Challa's chest "they may be small, but that's my team. If you think I'm going to put their safety in any of your hands your insane. I'm the only one I trust to take care of them."
"Strange," T'Challa commented "you seemed more a family than a team to me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Quill demanded, unnecessarily defensive.
"I mean there is a trust that flows through your group. You say what you mean. You tell it how it is. You argue enough for three rival clans," he added with a warm grin, thinking of home. "But when threatened from the outside you pull together, back to back. Deep down you know you can trust each other implicitly. To be honest, The Avengers could use to learn some of that from you," he added with a half shrug.
Quill blinked, clearly having trouble downshifting from alert status. "Wait, are you saying you want me to be in charge?"
"Why does one person have to be in charge?" T'Challa asked pointedly.
Quill shrugged. "I don't know, it just seemed like where you were going," he said. "Hey, I don't want to be in charge of those nutcases anyways," he added. "They're crazy."
"I wouldn't go that far," T'Challa said. "It wouldn't hurt your family to learn a little of their professionalism."
"So, you want us to learn from each other?" Quill asked suspiciously.
"That is the point of all of this," T'Challa said. "But before we can learn from each other we have to respect one another. Personal bouts are a great way for strangers to gain that respect. Unfortunately, that's a condition very difficult to attain when the leaders of the various groups are constantly at each other's throats," he finished pointedly.
"Play nice, in other words," Quill summed up wryly.
"In simplest terms," T'Challa agreed.
"See, why couldn't you have just said that?" Quill asked ironically.
T'Challa shrugged. "And have you miss out on my fine oratory skills?" he asked with a slight grin. Quill grinned back. The grin didn't last. As it faded, he shook his head.
"This can't work. You have to see that. Look, I'm all for working together, but this competitive training thing they're pushing is only going to split us up."
T'Challa paused for a moment. "Back in my country a king may be challenged on the day of his ascension."
"Challenged?" Quill asked in spite of himself.
"A ritual combat that ends when one of the combatants yields or is killed."
"That's barbaric," Quill said, caught off guard. Of all the people from Earth he'd felt certain that T'Challa would be most likely to behave in a civilized manner. "And I thought the Ravagers were bad," he added, turning again to go.
T'Challa ignored it. "There was one challenge on my ascension day," T'Challa said, causing Quill to stop. Peter turned back to him, a question on his face. "A man named M'Baku," T'Challa told him, a slight smile at the thought of that bear of a man crossing his face.
"And you killed him?" Quill asked, aghast. T'Challa had quickly gone from civilized to another Thanos in his mind.
"No," T'Challa replied. "I got him to yield. He is currently second in command of my country."
"Wait, so you put the guy that challenged you for your throne within one step of it?" Quill asked. T'Challa nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if you came home to a few changes," he added sarcastically.
"That won't happen," T'Challa said certainly.
"How can you be sure?"
"Because, after M'Baku's challenge, he saved my life, protected my family, and helped me stop a madman from launching my country on a campaign of conquest that would have destroyed the world."
"Why did he help you?" Quill asked.
"Because I earned his respect," T'Challa stated.
"Because you beat him," Quill asserted.
"No, because I fought with honor."
"With honor, huh," Quill said, clearly unconvinced. "In my experience, such contests rarely have much honor involved. I'll bet Gamora and Nebula would say the same."
"So, what you are seeing is that any tool can be used for good or evil," T'Challa replied. "You carry blasters around," he said, indicating the weapons strapped to Quill's thighs. "Do you do evil with them?"
"No, I stop evil with them," Quill said, just a tinge of pride coloring his voice.
"But they could be used for evil," T'Challa replied.
"Yeah," Quill admitted.
"So too is it with training. Like your blasters, it is quality of those that use it that determines how it is used, not the tool itself."
Quill thought about that. Then he shook his head. "I don't know, it still feels wrong," he said, though now not as sure as before.
"Perhaps," T'Challa conceded. "But allow me to ask you this one thing more: is there another way for us to learn to work together, here and now?"
"No," Quill said, making his own concession. "But just because I can't think of a better way doesn't mean this won't fail."
"It will certainly fail if you don't support it," T'Challa replied. "Right now, we have four people trying to push a truck up a steep incline. One is in the driver's seat, steering. And one is pushing against the first two. Which do you think you are?"
Peter paused for a moment, then nodded. "Fine, I'll try," he said before turning, again, to walk down the hall.
"Mr. Quill," T'Challa said softly, causing Quill to stop once more. "I must ask you, would you have been as opposed to this training system if Gamora had suggested it?"
Peter twisted around, clearly ready to reject the implications of that question. But that rejection remained unsaid. Instead his eyes seemed to go far away as he considered, almost against his will, that question. Then his eyes refocused on T'Challa. Without a word he continued his march down the corridor.
Half way through the first intersection he jumped as if startled. "Jesus Christ," he protested. "What is this; ship wide lurking day?" he demanded as he started walking again. "Don't you people have anything better to do than skulk against the bulkheads? Go paint your nails or whatever it is you do with your time." He continued like that until his voice faded from hearing.
Nebula stepped around the corner he'd jumped at and approached T'Challa. Gamora stepped into the hallway from the other side. A moment later they were joined by Steve and Tony from down the corridor.
"What's she doing here?" Tony asked, gesturing to Nebula.
Nebula ignored him. "Do you really think his behavior is just a result of childish insecurity?" she asked, clearly unconvinced.
"I believe so," T'Challa replied. "It certainly makes more sense of his actions to date."
"Guess we'll just have to wait and see," Steve said.
"Gamora?" Tony asked. "You know him best."
She shrugged. "He hasn't said anything to me about it," she said. "But it's definitely possible."
"What do you see in him?" Nebula asked Gamora in a clear tone of disappointment.
"And on that note," Tony said quickly before Gamora could take that bait "I suggest we adjourn this court of inquiry.
"Agreed," Steve said. "It seems as if we could all use a nap." They all dispersed just as quickly as they'd come.