#pleasesayitsnotso

                          “One must be cold if one wishes to savor chaos.”

                                         ―  Ferdinand Hardekopf

  To say things had taken a turn for the worst was indeed an understatement, in light of recent circumstances and events it seemed that the self destruct button had been hit. Repetitively.  Rhodey was held in intensive care, where his life and future hung precariously within the hands of the surgeons who operated on him. Meanwhile Tony was left within a void of silence from where he viewed the aftermath of what had been a battle between teammates, between friends. Everything had once seemed so clear cut, two sides, two choices, one right one wrong. It was never that simple. The decisions and actions of one Agent Romanoff had perhaps highlighted that very point, to think that this was ever truly down to the safety of those under the protection of the Avengers, the control and monitoring of their purpose, responsibilities and actions... they were all fools.

  As Natasha stood in the waiting room, fresh from her somewhat strained interaction with Mr Stark himself, she tried in earnest to filter her thoughts. The vehement desire to focus on one thing was a prominent wish that she failed to achieve. Too many questions, speculations and assumptions all begged for her attention, pleading to be picked apart however her willingness to do so faltered. Natasha’s ability to dissect, interrogate and conclude was second to none, but when it came to self-evaluation it seemed her talents fell short. The stark revelations she found lacked significance, and were therefore left to the wayside, although seemingly never quite out of sight.

  Her foot tapped rhythmically upon the pristine laminate floor, the toe of her boot batted at the surface as her leg jogged up and down, some would say it was a nervous tick but those in the know would realise it was an occupation. An outlet of restless energy driven into one minute physical action, to be still and vacant was not her way, to initiate action and purpose was. Heavy footsteps prowled towards her, their sound only reaching her because he wanted her to know he was there. Her gaze flickered from where it had once fixed itself, seemingly into an empty plane of space that yielded nothing, towards him. His features were stern in their regal manner, however between the fixed lines of his face she could find no animosity, something that after recent events she had fully expected to see. The bolts of electricity and the pure strength of voltage that had convulsed him so violently was certainly not something to be taken lightly. As she awaited his words, she found herself rather taken aback by his passive and definite statement,

“You care about him.” The crease within her brow painted clearly her confusion, the perfectly plucked arch of her brow puckered in bewilderment as she asked,

“Your majesty?” His languid steps took him further into the room, his broad stature an intimidating presence if ever there was one, although those of the feline species had never bothered her before, and would indeed never do so. Royalty or not. The reply she received packed a punch she should have seen coming, but then present situations had brought with them unexpected calls and turns that no one could have seen,

“Captain Rogers.” Her once folded arms unravelled, allowing her fingers to slot together, clasping and unclasping in a fidgeting fashion, before she nonchalantly shrugged and stated,

“I merely did what I thought was right.” A slight quirk at the edge of his lips brought with it a smirk of amusement, one of which he wore well, as it swept upon his clear cut features as he asked,

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Her already stiff and defensive demeanour tightened further at the question, her top teeth sunk into her lower lip exacting a blunt but forceful nip. Upon the release of her bite she pursed her lips together tightly, before allowing a gentle but indifferent smile to replace it, as she answered,

“It’s what I know.” His solid stance loosened itself ever so slightly, his rigid posture momentarily giving way for a hearty chuckle, one of which boomed off the bare walls, before he continued,

“Too often we ignore what we feel. We claim it weakens us, prevents us from reaching our potential. To think that is our second fault.” Her lips could not deny the smirk that embellished her rich ripe lips, as she decidedly shook her head ever so slightly in silent disagreement. She did not know how much T’Challa knew of her, knew of her past, of a life and being left behind. If he did know he didn’t show it, ignorance was a good game to play, to be seen to not know was a powerful position to hold. Either way his statement amused her in a manner that irony would, her life was a display of faults lacquered in toxic red,

“I’ve made more than two faults in my life.” A slight tilt of his head followed a gentle action of sympathy that had become a familiar response to many a frank word that she would proffer. It no longer touched her; however his words that trailed next grappled with one of her many musings. One of which she fully had intended to bypass. His deep brown eyes softened, shedding the piercing and unyielding gaze that a monarch and man of his standing wore so often, as he stated,

“But one of them was not to let him and Barnes go.” Her instinct was to deny but the truth of it silenced her, for he was right, it was no fault. The suggestion was that her lingering sentiments for the Captain had curved her allegiance, had sculpted a decision that was made with his feelings in mind. Her prevailing inclination was that her choice was elected for the sole purpose of saving everyone, the accords regarding the monitored and governed nature of the Avengers was lost the moment the world was in peril. That in itself sat disjointedly, part of a truth but not entirely so, although the implication made by the King was one she had considered it was not one she welcomed.

  Steve was a leader of men, a loyal friend, a vision of patriotism, a symbol of integrity and justice, but he was also a man who had lost. He’d seen the ugly side of humanity from the side of the angels, its vile intentions and deceptions painted liberally for him to see. It had changed him. She had once been a part of that wicked art, a long and torturous stroke of red that scorched the canvas permanently. She would not contribute further to his disapproval and disappointment of all that he had found in the present, he’d had enough of that to last another lifetime.

                                                           XI

It was indeed a fact that happiness could be sought in the minor acts of life, moments in which an insignificant thought or action had an impact that no one estranged from that instant would understand. The happiness at finding the last pack of potato chips at the back of the cupboard; opening the cereal box to find a free toy inside; and finding out your favourite TV show had been renewed for another season. All sources of the blinding glow of purity that happiness can bestow, in which we bask and give thanks for. Steve had indeed found one of these moments himself; it featured heavily the presence of a woman who had forced upon him a menagerie of emotions. To find Natasha wearing his clothes had become one of those odd delights in life, a sight that would instigate a flush of warmth throughout his chest coercing an expression of pure adoration and content.

    This lazy Sunday morning had embellished itself with the exquisite bow of this charming sight, his gaze glistened with the soft sheen of admiration paired with a gentle smile which further perpetuated his appreciation of her. Natasha herself was sat cross legged upon the glossy black counter of the breakfast bar; her brazen crimson curls framed her sharp features in a tousled style. Upon her upper half she sported a slouchy black sweater, although the notable item of clothing was the pair of striped boxers she wore. The mundane blue and white striped pattern had earned the nickname of “old man pants” by their current wearer, although that clearly did nothing to deter her from wearing them. He was glad of that. The somewhat romanticised vision of domesticity they had painted was somewhat made more real by the languid and rather uncouth manner in which Natasha chomped away at her apple, the juice spraying from each bite. Escaping from consumption the sweet liquid found refuge upon her chin, before it soon fled with gusto trickling down the contours of her elegant neck. The ungainly manner in which she ate her breakfast fruit did nothing to put a dent in the admiration he felt for her, they had reached a point in their relationship where they no longer felt the need to hide their bad habits. Although Steve could not deny the bemusement he felt at some of Natasha’s decisions, on this occasion it was the fact she was sat on the countertop instead of the numerous stools available,

“Really Nat? Do you need to sit there? There’s a stool right there.” As he spoke he continued to stir their coffees, knowing only too well that Natasha had a habit of struggling to function in the morning without some form of caffeine.

    Domesticity and what was regarded as the usual norms of two people in a relationship had been something Natasha had found surprisingly hard to adapt to. She still wondered now whether the authenticity of the situation made it bordering on impossible for her to accept the behaviours that she was expected to deliver. Undercover she had no qualms with becoming the person she was required to be, it wasn’t real and it was temporary meaning that no sooner as she became that character she always knew she’d escape the plotline she was required to act out. But this... this was a whole other ball game; she was required to be herself because someone actually wanted that, they wanted the complete and utter mess that was simply her. That role she had seemingly struggled with for well... ever, she had encountered so many identity crises that she still wasn’t entirely certain on who she was. Was she the person she was because she had been told to be? What if things had been different, would she still be the same woman she was now? Most likely not... but maybe that could be a good thing. A product liable to defects, damaged and dented to a point where it was hard to identify which parts were functioning and which were not. But he wanted that, wanted every scratch and fault with no shoddy patch up jobs in sight and she honestly could not deny him that. So here she watched Steve make her morning coffee and bickered with him in the playful manner she so often used,

“Freedom Rogers, I thought that was what you fought for? I have the freedom to sit wherever I want.” Her crimson lips preened themselves into the cheeky grin he had admired many a time, its appearance a signature sign that she was indeed teasing him. As she took another large mouthful of apple, the pungent proud essence of victory emanated from her; coaxing a sigh of defeat to escape from him although he too featured a grin,

“Okay you got me there.” As he cradled her coffee within his large hand he carefully shuffled towards her, before he passed it into her much smaller palms. Taking it from him she gazed up into his crystal blue eyes, allowing herself the luxury of falling into that gaze knowing full well that he wanted her there always. She wanted to be there too. Looking up from underneath her thick lashes she enquired softly,

“Three sugars?” His lips curved into that all too familiar smile, as he replied,

“Of course.” That was plenty enough reason for her to tilt her chin, an indication that a kiss was a resolute certainty at this current moment, and on successfully reading his cue he bent down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. The moment unfortunately was rather short lived, as what sounded very much like a small herd of elephants traversed into the communal kitchen.

    It wasn’t a herd of elephants; in fact Steve thinks he may have been able to turn a blind eye to that; however it was Tony, Bruce and Clint. At their immediate entry Steve had quickly torn himself away from the intimate stance he had held before Natasha, and had hurriedly returned back beside the counter where his coffee had remained. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his fellow teammates to know of his changed relationship status, it was just that it had never come up and he and Natasha had never discussed it, allowing the subject to fall to the wayside seemingly unimportant. He couldn’t help however the way his brow furrowed at the sight of her expression of amusement, the failed concealment of a slight titter that indicated perhaps he shouldn’t be quite so uptight.

    Clint waltzed towards the stool settled near Natasha, as he plonked himself upon it before he carefully prised the cup of coffee from her hands, an act that was rather daring although remarkably allowed. To accompany his rather bold theft, was a tongue in cheek word of gratitude,

“Thanks babe you shouldn’t have.” On taking a sip however it became rather apparent why she had allowed him to take it in first place, as he spluttered his features scrunched into an expression of pure disgust and revulsion,

“God woman what are you trying to do? Poison me?” As he shoved the offending beverage back into the waiting hands of its original owner, an amused smirk liberally illustrated her features as she replied,

“Believe me if that was my intention you’d have been gone long ago.” Basking in the aftermath of triumph against her dear friend, she took a blissful sip of her coffee, whilst Clint replied with the tone of sarcasm that had become a regular feature within their friendship,

“You’re too kind.”

    Opposite this exchange of a rather casual and relaxed manner was one of a completely opposite nature, as a rather anxious Captain tried in all earnest to appear of a somewhat ‘normal’ disposition. This however was something Steve had not quite grasped the hang of; he was by temperament a soldier and therefore was not skilled in the line of deception driven by concealment and performance. A spy or actor he was not, so it came as no surprise that as Stark strolled towards him that with one glance he identified that something was not quite right,

“You okay Cap? Who’s ruffled your feathers?” Steve’s hand instinctively squeezed around the cup he was holding, the pressure around the ceramic hard and pressing although he had to remind himself that the strength he possessed could shatter it if he had the inclination to. Definitely not a discreet incident, so with that in mind he allowed his grasp to ease although the discomfort he felt did not follow it’s leave too. In a poor show of feigned innocence he stuttered back,

“Eh... what?” With an eye roll that illustrated the severe lack of patience Stark had with anything and anyone, an exasperated sigh fell from the millionaires lips as he quipped back,

“Is a stick up your arse? I mean how many more metaphors are there?” Stark continued to peruse the cupboard that was above the countertop before him, the open door obscured his face from Steve’s view making it all the more easier to fib,

“I’m fine... just... thinking that’s all.” As he pulled forth a bowl and a box of cereal Stark closed the cupboard, revealing a creased brow and a slanted purse of lips to indicate that he was entirely not convinced by his teammate’s response. For Tony however the current moment called for more pressing matters such as food, so he continued with that task allowing the odd demeanour of his Captain to be put on hold.

    Meanwhile Steve himself took a much needed gulp of his coffee, the pungent scent and heat brushed across his cheeks as he did so, whilst he glanced over the rim to find the sight of Natasha smirking at him. Her smirk was always a precursor to a teasing comment or observation and Steve was sure that his appalling show of some sort of composure was definitely going to come under fire. Tony had finished making his breakfast and was now on to the important task of devouring it, as he did so he asked offhandedly,

“So what are you two lovebirds up to today? Or do I not want to know?” Steve flinched at the inquiry, his feet somehow failed to coordinate properly as his previously secure stance fell apart as he swayed and floundered. The movement created enough momentum for his coffee to splash over the rim and on to him, leaving a dark scorching stain upon his pristine white t-shirt, whilst the liquid still within his mouth proceeded to coax a menagerie of coughs and splutters. On finally clearing his airways he procured enough composure to slam his cup back upon the counter, before he averted his gaze towards the offending stain upon his chest, his fingers plucked at the material pulling it taut and toward him to allow further inspection. The empty space that awaited his response was deafeningly present and falling victim to its wish he croaked out,

“Wh... Wha... What?” On casting his gaze back to his company he found Clint trying in earnest to stifle a snigger, although the glint in his eyes proved how amused he actually felt as he chuckled through a sly grin,

“Oh give it up Rogers, everyone knows about you and little Miss Russian-psycho here.” Steve’s brows leapt high upon his forehead, his eyes now unmistakably wide as he pursed his lips in a pathetic attempt to look somewhat indifferent. He really needed to learn how to conceal what he actually felt, he had always dismissed those observations of those who declared he wore his heart on his sleeve, it seemed he not only wore his heart but his brain there also.

    As he sought out Natasha’s gaze he tried to wordlessly call out for help, what did she want from this situation? What would she do or say to divert the attention? Or would she just come out with it? She did not answer to any of those questions, instead she looked entirely indifferent towards the entire situation and completely unmoved by the possibility that everyone would find out about them.  As Tony finished a large mouthful of cereal, he casually pointed out,

“I mean even Bruce knows, right Brucie boy?” Bruce had resided on one of the other stools nearby, his attention had long been held securely by the document he had been reading, so initially he merely hummed in agreement. Although a mere second later it clearly occurred to him that when conversing with Tony it was better to check what you had agreed to rather than bypassing any details, as he halted his study and glanced up,

“Eh what?” His enquiry was met with clarification from Stark himself,

“Beauty and the beast here?” A small shrug relayed that the Doctor did indeed know who the topic of discussion was even without the use of their proper names, a clear indication by Steve that the cat was completely out of the bag and had indeed been wandering free for some while. Bruce reiterated Steve’s assumption as he remarked,

“Oh yeah I knew ages ago.” On concluding his involvement in the conversation was finished he returned to his initial object of interest, something of far more significance than the dating habits of his friends and teammates.

    All eyes were back on Steve again, and on having procured no encouragement, determent or instruction from Natasha herself he continued to not have a clue on what to say or do,

“What? No... it’s not... I mean...” Sometimes Steve wandered if the serum had changed anything at all because right now he felt that he was yet again that small weak kid from Brooklyn, backed into a corner and awaiting his downfall despite his best efforts to avoid it and best intentions at heart. Maybe not everything had changed. Tony’s voice interjected his reverie, as he jabbed the air with his spoon and stated,

“FYI she’s the beast.” Natasha knew now that Steve had endured enough discomfort, confusion and apprehension for one day and perhaps it was in fact time for her to intervene. She knew they knew, hell Clint had recognized what she had felt for Steve long before she had even known it herself. He needed to know now, because if it had been up to him he would have told them all but he had deflected, averted and dodged the truth all for her. Grand gestures of romance and affection was something out of the movies, out of epic stories and legendary myths, but everyday Steve held her in mind with minor actions or words crafted just for her. His flailing ability to lie or deceive on this occasion was one of those, the good intentions he held when regarding everyone, everything and her was something she marvelled at daily. She did not hold this trait in an equally easy manner; self-interest had been part of her life for so long it was sometimes hard to be so empathetic to others. She had been trained to put herself first always, think of you before anyone else, because others held the promise of a threat no matter their origin or general being. Somehow this teaching had managed to bypass him, slithering past unnoticed to allow her affection to lie before him; her trust had placed itself daringly into his hands. She owed him,

“ Steve they know.” Steve’s brow immediately lowered allowing a crease to form that portrayed his bafflement at her statement, a point he reiterated as he questioned,

“ How?” He was answered by Tony, as he so often did he took it upon himself that it was indeed his responsibility to bestow some clarity upon the situation, stupidly everyone let him and listened,

“She was wearing your clothes... always, I mean 21st century dating tip 1-0-1 if a woman wears your clothes they either, a) fancy you, b) they’re fucking you or they’re c) in love with you. It’s science.” With his explanation concluded he shovelled a large spoonful of cereal into his mouth, although not all flakes made it inside his mouth as one stuck to his chin, no one told him.

    Steve looked back to Natasha to see that she had actually nodded her head in steady agreement, and he could not deny the relief he felt that everybody now knew and that most importantly she did not mind it. It did not however do anything to deter the shock and numerous questions that now plagued him over the duration that his companions had know of his relationship with the spy, or the embarrassment he felt over his failed and rather pathetic attempt to conceal the truth.  

    Once again they were left alone, Steve had started to tidy up the aftermath of breakfast although most of the dishes and food left behind weren’t actually his or Natasha’s, but it seemed he was now not only a Captain but a cleaner too. After all that had come to pass the silence within the room seemed eerie and unsettling, only the mere movements of Steve himself could be heard. Natasha was usually one to like silence, she felt comforted by it and it had long been a companion to her throughout her life, but it wasn’t right. She still resided upon the countertop, although now she had brought herself to the edge allowing her legs to hang down, as she observed the man she so cared for,

“Steve...” He continued to tidy although he turned his head toward her, his crystal blue eyes gazed up at her in a manner that reminded her very much of a wounded pup, as he acknowledged her,

“Hmm?” She didn’t need him to say it because every inch of his expression indicated that what had come to pass that morning had not settled well on him, for that she felt painfully responsible. With the grace and poise she naturally possessed she moved elegantly from her chosen seat, allowing her to land soundlessly onto the floor before she made her way towards him. On placing herself by his side she softly traced his jawline with her fingertips, an affectionate action that had become a regular feature within their relationship and one of which both were fond of. As she looked upon his face a gentle smile curved her lips as she hushed,

“You know, you’re far too good for this world Steve.” Reading between the lines Steve could see that she also meant her, because ever since they had become... something he could see it as clear as day. She held this constant view that she could never be worthy of him, could never be deserving of his affection and the contentment of which he had brought to her life. As she continued to caress his jaw he tilted his head ever so slightly, his lips sought the soft pad of her thumb where he pressed a kiss to it and replied,

“Nat don’t...” Before he could finish however she interjected, intent clear upon her face,

“Don’t what? Speak honestly, voice my opinion?” Her tone held the attractive teasing manner that was so her, as she reiterated to him words he had indeed said to her before. Once upon a time he had battled for the words of comfort he had created just for her, once before he had asked her to be honest and to speak the truth in a moment in which she struggled to do so. He had no comeback and she knew it, his expression was dumbfounded but she could also see from the curve of his lips that he was simultaneously warmed by it too. Her hand dropped from his face as she relinquished her touch and glanced at him in triumph, as he replied within a chuckle,

“No you can do that always.” With that he continued with his initial task, an assumption that their conversation had now ended, however Natasha remained where she stood, as she agreed firmly,

“Okay.” The events of their morning had made it clear that Steve beheld her in a way that no other man ever had, the ways in which he adored her continued on into a precious list that Natasha was sure she would indulge herself in reading forever if she could. She did not need the presence of a man to make her feel worthy, to validate her presence in a world dominated by men and those who followed them so diligently. No she did not need that but she needed him because she wanted him... because she loved him.  His presence made her feel better and made her be better, he gave her an example of who she wanted to be, she wanted to do good not just for the reason of wiping her ledger but because it was the proper thing to do. It was moral and honourable, just like him, and she had ashamedly not been that enough in her long life. That she truly regretted, but she wouldn’t regret this. Calmly and without fear she declared,