Leipzig-Halle Airport. The air held its breath as they stood listening to Steve explain the plan; the quinjet, the flight to Siberia, the likelihood of Tony intercepting their route. It was almost halcyon how simplistic Rogers made it.
Fighting your friends.
Sam knew the Sokovia Accords tore a seam through them but to see it unravel to this extent...to simply hurting someone you'd laughed over dinners with...his throat dried out of excuses for how he felt.
He was sad.
He knew which side he'd picked and he stood by his convictions, but above the treeline of adverse opinion and rampant arguing--he was sad to be fighting his friends.
Still, his courage clung to his resolve and he faced ahead, laying dirt over his emotions.
"Hey." Clint said lowly, his gaze hidden under visors. He seemed the least bothered of anyone on either side, like he'd already gone past the treeline and seen how things end.
Whatever resolution he saw, he hadn't shared it with anyone. He hadn't even argued half as much.
His arm veered toward Sam who looked down to see an open, waiting palm then back up to see a severed expression.
Maybe Clint saw nothing at all.
Sam took his hand and felt a tight squeeze.
"Find me. When all this is over," Clint continued under his breath.
Sam didn't say anything. He didn't even know what Clint meant but--
"I'll be looking, too." Clint finished.
--but his emotion unearthed and for a moment, just a moment, he saw it. A glimpse beyond the treeline.
"I will." He said, squeezing back.
