We'll Fight Together (Romanogers / Steve X Natasha)

A Royal Arrival

Natasha woke up to two sounds: someone's steady breathing and a faint shuffling behind her. Her eyes fluttered open and the only thing she saw was Steve's sleeping visage. She dimpled, not questioning why his face was so close to hers. Noticing that his hair gel was starting to wane, she used her hand to smooth the blond mane out of his eyes. She heard more shuffling, followed by a sneeze. Rolling over for a glance, her eyes landed on Clea. The teen was waving her hands in delicate motions, pushing and pulling invisible objects out of the air. She sneezed a couple more times and Natasha witnessed her frustration grow. "Clea, what's wrong?"

"I can't stand the bunnies," Clea replied, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "And I'm tired of sneezing."

Bunnies? What bunnies? Natasha let her eyes focus until she saw it: in the center of the room stood a giant, brown sphere. Oh, dust bunnies, Natasha realized. Clea kept adding to the ball, separating dust from the air and effectively cleaning the room. It seemed like a complicated process, but using her hands as some sort of vacuum, Clea made it look easy.

"When's our ride?" Clea asked, beginning to condense the sphere into a ball.

Natasha looked over at the digital clock on the beside table. The light was dim, but she could still read the time. It read "6:07am."

"T'Challa said he'd be here around 8," Natasha replied, retreating from the covers in a careful fashion, striving to not disturb the angel beside her.

Clea now held the compacted dust-ball in her hands, tossing it like an old, dirt-encrusted baseball. "Should we wake him?"

Natasha stole another glance at Steve and found herself smiling once more. "No, let him sleep. Yesterday was a long one."

.....

T'Challa arrived at exactly 8:05am. He stood in the doorway of the shabby motel room, his kingly attire making the room look even worse by comparison. His Black Panther necklace shown boldly against his chest. Okoye stood beside him, spear in hand as she guarded her king. Steve quickly thanked the man standing before him, explaining how grateful they all were.

T'Challa took one look at the former Avengers and disheveled teen. They had done their best to freshen up in the motel's lackluster bathroom, which, luckily for them, had a working shower. However, none of them had spare sets of clothing, which left them stuck in the same battered outfits they had worn the day before. Eventually T'Challa replied, "I couldn't just leave you to fend for yourselves." He glanced at Clea, who stood with her arms politely behind her. "Much less a child."

He beckoned the three heroes to follow, leading them towards the Wakandan aircraft that stood in the center of the parking lot. They ascended through the ramp, entering the colorful interior of the ship. The walls and flooring were mostly black, with the occasional white strips lining various panels and windows. There was a separate white ramp in the center of the room, which rapped around an abstractly-painted, round wall and reached towards the ceiling. Everything was a perfect blend of culture and technology, though not even Natasha knew what anything was.

"So, I heard you need to get to the Netherlands?" The king, who's back had been turned to the three heroes, spun around as he clapped his massive hands. Despite his strength, the result of his colliding palms was a gentle pat.

"As soon as we can," Steve confirmed. He didn't bother to drone on with the reasoning, as he had already given T'Challa a rundown on the situation during their previous phone call. If the king needed more intel, Steve decided, him, Natasha, and Clea would thoroughly provide.

T'Challa nodded, taking a moment to glance at Okoye as if having an unbeknownst conversation with her. Whatever he was thinking, she seemed to agree. "HYDRA is no delicate force, Captain. You and I both are aware of that. You're going to need a lot more than a shield and pistols if you want to take down Ward." T'Challa approached a nearby bed of black sand that closely resembled a sandbox. Bringing his arms into an "X" formation, the heroes watched as dozens of Wakandan weapons rose to the forefront, clawing their way to the surface like zombies crawling out of their graves.

"I don't need a weapon," Clea assured them, shaking her head as if clearing it of thought. "My powers should suffice."

T'Challa nodded. "Very well, but I can't let you leave in those frayed rags." He made eye contact with all three of them. "Any of you. Torn clothing will not protect you against HYDRA." He turned back to Clea. "You and Shuri are the same size, so her clothing will have to do."

A teenage girl about Clea's age appeared at the top of the ramp in the center of the room. An intrigued expression danced across her face, her arms folded behind her back. Her curly black hair lay in perfectly-placed twin buns on the top of her scalp. Compared to Okoye, who wore a suit of Wakandan armor, the girl was dressed in more American clothing: a plaid shirt that held different arrays of the color purple, complete with sleeves that only reached her elbows, and ripped black jeans. It seemed as if she had packed her clothing on account of their destination, which she had. "Did you call, brother?"

"Here she is now." T'Challa smiled warmly. "Shuri, why don't you and Clea get to know one another? While you're at it, she needs a wardrobe change."

"Sure thing, brother." Shuri looked down at Clea and grinned, motioning for her new friend to follow. "Come. It's more fun up here, anyway."

As Steve watched the teens disappear into the ceiling, T'Challa spoke up. "Now, let's discuss this 'plan' of yours."