The King: T'Challa.

Chapter 8: The Airport

"I'm not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car," Sam said, eyeing the Beetle with flat disbelief.

Steve, unbothered, shut the driver's door. "It's low profile."

From the back seat, Emily tried not to laugh. Low profile, he said. Sure. Nothing screamed inconspicuous like two Super Soldiers, a former pilot, and herself crammed into a car designed for grocery runs. She could already imagine the stares: four half-broken fugitives folded into a Beetle. Hydra would have been proud of such camouflage.

At least Sharon had softened the absurdity by delivering their gear. Emily suspected her generosity had less to do with professional courtesy and more to do with Steve asking.

"Can you move your seat up?" Bucky's voice rumbled from beside Emily. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, his knees pressed against the seat in front of him.

Sam, snug in the passenger seat, didn't even glance back. "No."

Emily grinned. "Come on, Sam, the guy's twice your size."

"I don't care." His tone was final, almost petulant.

Bucky muttered something under his breath that Emily pretended not to catch. She leaned her head back against the seat, shaking it with quiet amusement. The two of them were like schoolboys fighting over the last chair.

Her attention shifted when Sam and Bucky both smirked suddenly, their eyes drawn toward the front of the car. Emily followed their gaze just in time to see Steve finally — finally — lean in and kiss Sharon.

A rush of warmth bloomed in her chest, unexpected but genuine. "I knew it," she blurted out, grinning.

Both men turned to look at her, matching expressions of mock confusion on their faces.

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you didn't see this coming?" She chuckled, incredulous at their feigned ignorance.

Steve slid back into the driver's seat a moment later. The second he noticed their collective expressions, his jaw tightened. "Don't even think about it."

He tried to sound stern, but the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.

Emily leaned forward between the seats, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Steve, you know it's our solemn duty as friends to never, ever let this go."

"She's right," Sam added, deadpan. "This is permanent record material."

He glanced back at Bucky and Emily, his grin widening. "Speaking of records—did Cap ever tell you about the time he told Tony 'language' in the middle of a mission?"

Emily's eyebrows shot up. Bucky actually smirked.

Sam started laughing at their reactions, clearly pleased with himself, until Steve's hand shot out and cuffed him on the back of the head.

"They should put that in your museum exhibit," Bucky said dryly.

Steve glared at him, but only for a beat. Then the corners of his mouth cracked into laughter, rich and unrestrained. It spread quickly — first to Emily, then to Sam, until the tiny Beetle was filled with the sound of four fugitives laughing harder than any of them had in months.

For a moment, war and politics and Hydra felt far away.

***

They pulled into the airport lot just as the black van rolled to a stop across from them. The place was deserted, eerily quiet. An entire airport cleared of life felt wrong, like stepping onto a stage where the play hadn't started yet.