You cut the engine of the sleek Wakandan jet, its design unmistakably Shuri's handiwork. The landing gear touches down with barely a whisper on the polished helipad surface. Overhead, the Stark Industries logo gleams.

A smirk tugs at your lips as you step out onto the roof, the cool air hitting your skin. The door to the interior is unlocked, as Tony always keeps it for authorized arrivals. You walk through the penthouse corridor, footsteps silent on the marble floors.

The sound of voices drifts from the main living area. The distinct tenor of Tony, the warm cadence of T'Challa's voice, Shuri's laugh somewhere in the background. You pause at the threshold.

They've gathered in the common room. Tony Stark is gesturing at a holographic display, mid-explanation. Bucky Barnes is perched on the edge of a leather sofa, arms crossed, watching the king with sharp grey-blue eyes—the same shade as your own. Steve Rogers stands beside him, arms folded, alert. Wanda Maximoff sits in an armchair, legs tucked beneath her, a cup of tea in her hands. Thor, Sam, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Peter, Yelena—all scattered around the room in comfortable arrangements.

They look up as you—Tony's face, Tony's height, Tony's voice before you speak—slide into the doorway.

T'Challa pinches the bridge of his nose.

A long-suffering sigh escapes him.