The King: T'Challa.

Chapter 9: Team Iron- Man Vs. Team Cap

One foot in front of the other. Emily matched Steve's stride, each step dragging them closer to Stark's line. The air between the two groups felt electric, brittle, seconds from snapping.

"They're not stopping," the boy in red and blue muttered nervously. His voice cracked slightly through the mask.

Tony's reply was clipped, hard. "Neither are we."

And then there was no space left. Both sides broke into a run, weapons drawn, the distance collapsing in heartbeats. Iron Man's repulsors flared, Captain America's shield swung into motion, and the airport tarmac became a battlefield.

Natasha and Clint clashed first, their movements sharp but measured, each holding back even as they struck. Emily lingered for a moment, frozen by the sight. Friends — family — colliding as though none of their history mattered. The absurdity of it pressed at her chest.

A shadow passed overhead. She glanced up just in time to see a truck sailing toward her. Instinct took over; she rolled aside as it crashed and erupted in fire. The heat licked across her skin, snapping her back to reality.

Her eyes swept the chaos until she found him. Bucky.

He was backed against a wall, shoulders taut, eyes wide. There was no mistaking it: fear. Standing before him, claws poised to strike, was the Black Panther.

Emily surged forward, weaving through the fray. Her breath slowed, her movements measured; she wanted the advantage of surprise. She heard T'Challa's voice, low and unforgiving.

"I didn't kill your father," Bucky said, his voice raw.

"Then why did you run?" T'Challa countered, his claws gleaming in the harsh light.

Emily came up behind them, her fists tightening. "Wouldn't you," she said evenly, "if a panther came charging for your throat?"

T'Challa spun toward the voice, just as her fist connected with his jaw. He staggered back with a hiss of pain, but recovered almost instantly, his movements flowing with predatory grace.

They clashed again, his claws slashing, her shield flaring as sparks burst between them. Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Bucky. His fear hadn't disappeared, but there was something else now — a flicker of relief, the ghost of a smile.

It was all the distraction T'Challa needed. His weight drove her to the ground, pinning her once more. Concrete bit into her back, and the breath punched from her lungs.

Bucky moved, instinct pulling him toward her, but Emily shook her head sharply, forcing the words out between gasps.

"Bucky — run! Get to the jet! Go!"

Her eyes locked on his, fierce and unwavering. She could hold T'Challa here. She had to.

Emily forced herself to meet the Panther's gaze, though the mask gave nothing back. Staring into that unreadable face was worse than fury; it was like looking into the void. She arched a brow anyway, feigning bravado.

"You're not going to let me up, are you?" Her smirk was sharp, brittle.

His voice rumbled through the mask. "I am trying to stop you from getting yourself killed."

She let out a dry laugh. "Aw. He cares."

"Of course I care!"

That broke through her mask faster than his claws had. The smirk slipped, surprise cutting through her features. He released her wrists, slow and deliberate, and she scrambled to her feet, brushing dust from her palms. But he was already gone, sprinting back into the chaos after Bucky.