"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.

A few moments of silence managed slip past her, the seconds and minutes easing through her grasp on the presence far too easily, before she realised he had long gone. Absent like the Captain she had once followed, the friend she had made and the man she had fallen in love with. Clarity was cruel at the best times, perhaps that was why to be lost in chaos and confusion was sometimes an illogical but more appealing choice. Blurred lines, crossed boundaries, broken rules and severed allegiances. The welcoming arms of disarray opened to take her away from everything and to take him from her, just as it should.