"Beauty is everywhere a welcome guest." – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
11.16PM Wakandan Time
Wakandan Airport, Central Wakanda, Africa.
The confident sway of hips.
The light fluttering of the lapels on an unzipped black leather jacket.
The rhythmic clicking and scraping of heels against asphalt.
And a flurry of red locks.
That about summed up the hustle and bustle of the tarmac.
It was a 7-hour flight across the Atlantic from the farm to Wakanda. By good fortune, Natasha was able to catch some much needed shut-eye throughout the majority of the flight, and was only roused from her beauty sleep when the computer had alerted her to the quinjet's proximity to Wakanda's airspace. In total, she had slept for about 5 hours or so, and was feeling much revitalized by the time the quinjet's transponder received a ping from Wakanda's air drone.
Hail auto-pilot.
Natasha was silently thanking whichever Godsend who had invented the world's first auto-piloting algorithm when her eyes spotted the airport's terminal building approximately 200 meters to her right.
With a sharp right turn, she began pacing towards the building, feeling herself picking up her pace the closer she was to the building.
Was it nerves? She supposed it was. Seeing how her palms were sweaty and all. Despite her knowledge that Steve was alive in Wakanda, she still couldn't quite shake off the feeling of apprehension and trepidation at the pit of her stomach. Dozens of questions coursed through Natasha's mind as her toned legs pushed her closer towards the terminal building.
How did Steve end up here?
Where the hell did Steve go after he and Barnes left the hangar?
What the hell happened after they both flew off in the quinjet?
Did Steve manage to defeat the 5 Winter Soldiers and complete his mission?
Did Steve come to Wakanda under his own volition, or was he coerced?
Did the government know that he was here?
Was Barnes still with him?
Natasha stopped abruptly in her tracks as her mind registered another thought.
Immediately, her eyes swept across the large expanse of the airport.
The tarmac was quasi-vacant. She saw a couple of fighter jets parked on the other end of the tarmac, probably about 500 meters from where her quinjet was, and that was it.
The airport was otherwise empty.
But Natasha knew, that something was missing.
A twinge of disquiet cascaded through her veins, and along her spine before settling at the pit of her belly. The well-oiled gears in her mind churned effortlessly as the brilliant spy put the pieces together.
That quinjet.
The one Steve had stolen from the German airport.
It was nowhere to be found.
Which could only imply one thing: that Steve hadn't piloted the quinjet to Wakanda.
How on Earth did Steve arrive at Wakanda then?
Well, Natasha was pretty sure she knew the answer to that one.
Someone from Wakanda must have brought him here.
T'Challa.
But how did T'Challa know where Steve and Barnes were headed to?
She supposed that the question was vain, considering the fact that Steve had clearly abandoned the quinjet he had stolen from the German airport.
So it had to be that someone had brought Steve into Wakanda.
And it was more likely to be T'Challa than anyone else.
So there she had a working hypothesis. T'Challa had brought Steve into Wakanda.
But on what terms?
Was it imprisonment?
Or was it refuge?
Was Steve coerced? Did they have something on Steve which forced Steve to comply? Did they use Barnes as leverage to get Steve to do whatever they wanted such as forcing him into Wakanda?
Was it another one of the government's agenda?
Worst, was this some sort of temporary holding place before he was handed over to the task force? Natasha silently prayed that that wasn't the case.
But if Steve wasn't coerced and had come to Wakanda on his own free will, then why didn't he take the quinjet to Wakanda?
Perhaps he didn't know the coordinates of Wakanda?
But Wakanda was placed under SHIELD's radar years ago and Steve was a Level 8 SHIELD agent and plus, he had a photographic memory. So it was unlikely that he didn't know the coordinates.
Unless...
Was he too hurt to pilot the jet?
Natasha's grip on her duffle tightened at the thought. She began walking again, at a much faster pace this time.
She hadn't asked about Steve during her brief phone call with T'Challa 30 minutes ago, and with good reasons too. An important principle in espionage was to never assume knowledge of a situation until you really do. She wasn't sure about T'Challa's intentions, therefore, she couldn't afford to reveal the real reason for her visit to Wakanda, at least not yet anyway. After all, it was T'Challa who had told Ross about her actions at the hangar, so she had no idea which 'side' T'Challa was on. To Natasha, there were really only two 'sides' that mattered, A) the side which wanted Steve dead, and B) the side which didn't. The way she figured? It was her job to figure out the 'side' which T'Challa had pledged his allegiance to. In fact, that was another reason she came here to Wakanda apart from finding Steve.
Had the circumstances not been this compromising, her mission would undoubtedly involve some form of pseudo-protocol as simplistic as: get in, find Steve, and then get the fuck out of there. But unfortunately for the Black Widow, she was caught in a tight spot because she had virtually zero intel whatsoever with regards to the circumstances of Steve's presence in Wakanda. For one, she knew that Steve was alive in Wakanda and…
Well, that was pretty much all she knew.
The plan, was to arrive at Wakanda as an ally, and then dig up whatever intel about Steve's stay in Wakanda while she was there. If it turned out that Steve was under Wakandan protection, well then, peachy, maybe she'd even invite him to join her for a nice little stroll in some Wakandan town to live and embrace Wakanda's cultural idiosyncrasies. Heck, she could even try setting Steve up with some nice Wakandan lady, score him a hot date or two. Bet that'd be pretty fun. But, if Steve was in any way imprisoned in Wakanda, then she would have to find a way to get him out. The latter might take a while, indubitably, but still very much within the realms of possibility – she was The Black Widow after all.
There was, of course, the concern that she had been deemed an unwelcomed person in Wakanda before she could even enter the nation. Which was why she had given T'Challa a ring around 30 minutes ago: to gauge the playing field. If it really turned out that she was unwelcomed? Hmm, well, let's just say, that she would have to get creative, really, really creative. Though luck was clearly on her side since T'Challa had welcomed her arrival with substantial exuberance. Then again, even the warm welcome by her host wasn't enough for her to let her guard down completely.
Either way, she was infiltrating Wakanda that night, be it through legal or illegal means. There was absolutely no question about that.
The automatic glass door of the terminal building slid open.
She spotted the limo at the pick-up zone. It was a 2-door stretch limousine with tinted windows. Considering the locale, she was willing to bet all her stakes that the vehicle was constructed entirely of vibranium. T'Challa was nowhere to be seen, but the Wakandan woman who had 'threatened' her in Berlin a day ago stood blocking the long rear door of the limo.
Great, so she's my chauffeur now. Real fun.
What ultimately transpired approximately thirty seconds later, was a staring match between two women. The tension between the two was palpable.
Long, generous red locks versus baldness.
Not-so-tall versus tall.
Fair skin versus dark skin.
Beautiful versus beautiful.
Russian versus Wakandan.
Avenger versus Dora Milaje.
Quite a showdown that was.
Neither spoke.
The redhead was waiting for her newfound 'BFF' to step the fuck aside so she could actually board the goddamn limo, which (if she may be so bold to make such a claim) was clearly meant for her use.
BFF continued her death stare.
A real amiable bunch, these Wakandans, seriously.
But then again, hadn't she done the exact same thing back in Berlin a day ago, when she blocked the door to T'Challa's limo, and challenged the same bald bodyguard to a staring match?
A smirk quickly found its way onto Natasha's lips, betraying her amusement at the uncanny role reversal. And immediately, she knew what her opening line was going to be. How could she not? After all, it was only polite to return the favor, wasn't it?
"Move. Or be moved…" said Natasha, her smirk widened.
Apparently, that broke the ice as a quick smile formed on BFF's face. Perhaps even macho Wakandan women who had a thing for 'moving' people could appreciate a good quip every once in a while.
At about the same time, the rear door of the limo slid open and T'Challa stepped out.
"Miss Romanoff."
"T'Challa." was all Natasha said. She would need to coax information about Steve pretty soon, but she was gonna have to find the right time.
Now's too soon.
She schooled her features.
Can't let him know that I'm here to get Steve.
As far as T'Challa was concerned, she was only there to seek refuge. She'd only divulge that much. She had made no mentions whatsoever regarding Steve.
T'Challa, on the other hand, seemed to find her reserved behavior rather odd. For one, Natasha wasn't behaving in the way that T'Challa had expected she would, such as bombarding him with questions about the good Captain's well-being, for instance. Well, even though she hadn't explicitly stated it during their brief phone call, T'Challa had assumed that she had come to Wakanda to look for the good Captain. Had he assumed wrong? He gave Natasha a quick once over and narrowed his eyes, trying to figure the spy out.
What happened next took Natasha by complete surprise.
T'Challa burst out laughing.
Now this is awkward… Natasha thought warily.
Natasha's face scrunched up in confusion but T'Challa spoke before she had a chance to utter another word.
"Oh I see what's going on here... you don't trust me." T'Challa nodded, "Understandably so."
Shit. Cover's blown.
Should she abort? Damn it. What a waste.
Natasha was about to open her mouth to voice her indignation before she was, once again, cut off by T'Challa.
"Relax Miss Romanoff. I have a pretty good guess as to why you're here. And just for the record, you have no cause for worry. I can assure you that Captain Rogers and I are on good terms now. They are both under Wakandan protection until things quiet down. It's unofficial though. Nobody except us knows about this arrangement. And relax, I didn't tell Stark either."
Well, then. How about that.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, Romanoff. Just hold on a second…
Natasha quickly regained her skepticism.
It could be a ploy. Or a trap.
Yeah… A trap, in order to capture her, using Steve as bait.
Sensing Natasha's skepticism, T'Challa smiled again.
"Takes much more than words to convince the Black Widow, so it seems." T'Challa said before giving a curt nod to Miss BFF.
The latter reached into her pocket and took out a golden envelope with Wakanda's insignia printed at the bottom right corner.
Natasha took the envelope from BFF.
"What's this?"
"That, is an invitation I had sent out to Captain Rogers requesting him to join me for dinner tonight, which he did. And this," T'Challa reached into his own pocket, took out a piece of folded A4 paper and began unfolding it, "is the gift Captain Rogers had brought me when he attended the invitation."
Natasha handed the invitation back to BFF and quickly scanned the A4 paper that T'Challa was holding.
It was a sketch, a very beautiful sketch. Her eyes skimmed through the paper.
"Nice sketch." Natasha said. She recognized the style, and the artwork looked a lot like Steve's, she would give T'Challa that one. And she'd also recognized the color tones of Steve's color pencils.
But she needed more confirmation than that.
And Natasha knew just what to look for.
Natasha was familiar with Steve's drawing habits, including how he would always leave his signature behind the page of every single one of his sketches.
Natasha smirked.
"Show me the back of the paper."
T'Challa laughed and turned the paper over.
There it was. The familiar cursive which read 'Steve Rogers' with the day's date scrawled underneath it.
Natasha's shoulders sagged in relief.
"So you believe me now?" T'Challa asked, his face crinkled up in good nature.
"Take me to him."
The limo was spacious and it contained 2 rows of seats. The seat configurations were such that each seating row faced each other. There was ample leg space separating the two rows. Right at the center of the leg space was a holographic projector. Natasha and T'Challa sat facing each other.
Once seated, Natasha crossed her legs and stared out of the tinted window.
Neither of them seemed to be in any mood for conversation, so they sat in silence for a while.
T'Challa had the distinct impression that the spy was still being cautious around him, much to his amusement.
10 minutes of the ride lapsed before Natasha's clipped voice pierced through the veil of silence like a dagger.
"Is he okay?"
When T'Challa didn't answer immediately, Natasha tore her gaze away from the window and saw T'Challa tapping away on his phone's screen.
2 seconds later, the holographic projector at the center came to life.
"This," T'Challa waved his phone across the light of the projector, and immediately a hologram popped up, "was sent to me by a royal scout this evening around 7PM tonight. It was found right underneath the tallest cliff in our rainforest."
Natasha scrutinized the hologram. It was a set of shoe prints left on dry soil. There was nothing spectacular about the prints except that it was, well, deep. Natasha reached towards the projector and picked up the holographic image to better examine the depth of the mark. From what the spy gathered, the shoe imprint must be at least 6 centimeters deep into the dry soil. In an instant, Natasha's eyes sparkled in understanding.
"This shoe print, you think it belongs to Steve."
"I do. And I have good reasons to believe so." T'Challa swiped the screen on his phone and once again waved the phone across the lights of the projector.
New holograms filled the space of the limo. This time, it showed a tall cliff.
"This cliff, as you can see, is at least 5000 feet tall. It hasn't rained in Wakanda for days so the soil must be dry. A shoe imprint that deep on such dry soil can only be caused by a huge impact of the shoe's base against the ground. And I don't think anyone in Wakanda other than the Captain could've survived a leap from the top of a 5000-feet cliff."
Well, if he was jumping around already then I guess that's a good sign.
Natasha nodded, "I see, so he's physically okay."
"He was in pretty bad shape when I met him yesterday. I met him in Siberia, by the way, it was where he and Barnes were headed after they left us at the airport. There was a HYDRA facility there, where the 5 Winter Soldiers were kept. Anyway, the Captain seemed physically fine after a day's rest. When I saw him again this morning, there were still some scrapes and surface wounds on his cheeks, and he told me himself that he had some broken ribs which would heal by tomorrow. But when I met him for dinner just now, the cuts on his cheeks had already vanished. And, well, if he could jump off a cliff that tall… I doubt that he's in too much trouble, Miss Romanoff." T'Challa smiled kindly.
"Good to know."
Natasha hesitated for a few seconds before asking, "You said you found them in… Siberia, was it? But how did you know where Steve and Barnes were headed to? We never really found out at the airport."
"I tailed Stark."
Natasha's eyes widened immediately, seemingly taken aback by what she heard. "Stark knew? How? He didn't tell me."
"Yes. But he only found out after you had left the compound. He told me that he did some digging and found corroborative evidences to support Captain Rogers' story. As for how he found out the exact location of the HYDRA facility where the Captain was headed, he said that he managed to get Wilson talking."
Damn it, Tony. You could've called me, and we could've gone to Siberia together as Cap's backup. Yet you didn't. So much time wasted. I'm so gonna kick your ass for this, Shell-Head.
"What exactly happened in Siberia?"
T'Challa sighed, almost as if he dreaded hearing the question. He leaned back in his seat and said nothing. Just like that, the tight knot returned to the pit of her stomach.
Something bad must've happened.
"T'Challa… Tell me what happened." Natasha pleaded.
"I'm sorry, Miss Romanoff… All I can say is that… what happened in Siberia was something deeply personal between Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Stark. It is really not my place to reveal it to you. I think it would be best if you hear the story from Captain Roger's own mouth. I'm sorry."
"Fine, guess I'd have to wait for people to tell me things, again. But hey, at least this time I wouldn't have to wait for one whole day to have some meagre idea about the vital status of the people I care about, so that's just fantastic I suppose." Natasha said in a tone that dripped with acrimony.
T'Challa flinched slightly and shook his head in resignation.
"I can, however, tell you what I've mentioned to Ross yesterday. I left out the details which concerned Captain Roger's and Mr. Stark's privacy."
"I'm listening…"
"Apparently, the whole scheme was a revenge plot orchestrated by Helmut Zemo, that fake UN psychiatrist. He lost his family during the Battle of Sokovia. Long story short, he blamed the Avengers for that, and he wanted revenge against you guys. The whole idea was to destroy the Avengers from within. And he figured he could do so by getting the Avengers to kill each other."
Natasha quickly put two and two together.
As her brilliant mind worked, her beautiful eyebrows furrowed deeply, almost as if they were knitted together by an invisible thread.
"So Steve and Tony beat the living shit out of each other? Was that what happened in Siberia?!" Natasha half-shouted.
T'Challa kept quiet, not knowing how to respond to her outburst.
"Ребята children…"
"I'm sorry, Miss Romanoff. It wasn't my intention to upset you..."
"Christ, I leave these boys on their own for no more than one fucking day, and this is what happened? Ughh! Боже. This is such childish bullshit." Natasha shook her head in utter disgust, her red tresses spilled to the front of her breasts, covering the front of her leather jacket.
Her host sat in awkward silence.
"How? How did this Zemo guy get them to fight each other?" Natasha asked after a few calming breaths.
"Well, that's the personal part. You need to hear it from the Captain himself, Miss Romanoff. It really isn't my place to tell you."
Natasha wasn't a fool. She knew what T'Challa really meant. He meant that there might be a chance that Steve would choose not to tell her the full story. More reason for her to believe that something really, really terrible had happened in Siberia.
Natasha heaved a heavy sigh, but decided to drop the subject for now.
"What about Zemo? Where is he now?"
"In custody. I handed him over to Ross. Stark and I had personally escorted him into his holding cell at the Raft just this morning. Sentenced to life in prison. No chance of parole."
"And what about the Winter Soldiers? What's their role in all this?"
"Apparently, they were merely tools to lure the Captain and Mr. Stark into one place."
"And? What became of them?"
"Well, Zemo blew up them all up with powerful explosives. The bodies were all charred beyond saving, at least according to what my top scientists told me."
Natasha's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at the absurdity of what she had heard.
"So. What? Now he thinks he's some self-righteous fella doing the world a favor by destroying HYDRA's work?" Natasha scoffed.
T'Challa gave her a wry smile and a shrug, but said nothing in return.
Natasha's mind began working again. She thought a bit about what T'Challa had just told her.
Blow them up? Isn't that a bit overboard?
"Did you find out why he destroyed the test subjects' bodies? It seemed a bit unnecessary." Natasha questioned again.
"That's actually the weirdest part about this whole incident. I asked him about it, but he kept quiet throughout the entire journey back to JCTC's HQ. Never said a word. And he had even attempted suicide when I subdued him outside the HYDRA facility. Well, obviously, I prevented it."
Natasha snorted.
"You saved his life. I'm sure you did the world a huge favor for that stunt. Hey, I hear they even give out medals for suicide preventions these days. Interested?"
T'Challa chuckled in good-humor, shaking his head as he laughed.
"Then again, for the King of Wakanda to receive a normal medal would be a bit condescending, I suppose. Plus, I don't think the bureaucrats can afford the vibranium ones. But hey, you can always take a portion out of that massive rock of yours at home, and make yourself a medal. Bet that'd be pretty fun…" Natasha sassed, her eyes holding a humorous gleam.
T'Challa's laughter filled the space of the limo.
"Ever thought of becoming a comedienne, Miss Romanoff?"
"No. Why? Is there a vacancy in Wakanda?" she teased.
The King's eyes crinkled in amusement, "I'm not making a job offer, if that's what you're expecting."
"No? Dang. And here I was, looking forward to hear a good story about the shortage of stage clowns in the world's wealthiest nation."
T'Challa guffawed.
Seeing her host's obvious delight, Natasha allowed a hint of a smile to show on her own face.
"What I actually meant was that since you're now a fugitive on the run and all, it'd be a pretty good cover for you." remarked T'Challa.
"Oh? And when exactly, might I ask, did the King of Wakanda become such an expert in espionage?" she asked teasingly.
The King chuckled.
"How much are you willing to bet, that no one would associate the deadly Black Widow with somebody who does gags for a living?" T'Challa challenged.
The spy smirked, "Sorry. No bets. I don't own vibranium chips." she paused, "But I'll consider your suggestion."
The limo hit a few bumps, interrupting their brief exchange.
"What about Barnes? You didn't kill him did you?" Natasha asked when the car ride turned smooth once again.
"He's safe. He'd requested to be put in Cryogenic sleep until we can figure out how to reverse HYDRA's mental programming. The procedure was completed this morning. I had him placed under the supervision of Doctor Afia, the HOD of WIS' Cryogenics Department, with the Captain's approval, of course." At Natasha's obvious expression of alarm, T'Challa quickly clarified, "Don't worry, she's clean. You can trust her."
Natasha shook her head in disbelief, an incredulous laugh escaped her beautiful lips, "So let me get this straight, just a day ago, you nearly clawed Barnes' head right off his shoulders, and now, what? You're a member of his barbershop quartet now? Who would've thought that things would turn out to be so much fun?"
"As amusing as it sounds, Miss Romanoff. It was completely true what I said before. Zemo manipulated me. And I was nearly consumed by vengeance as a result. Helping Barnes is just... well, you can think of it as my way of righting wrongs."
Natasha sighed.
"Well I guess that answers the question of why Steve's here in Wakanda."
"Where are we headed to anyway?" Natasha asked when T'Challa reached over to shut down the holographic projector.
For a moment, T'Challa stared at her in amusement, his eyebrows arched high.
Natasha smirked.
"Sorry, usually I'm able to tell these things right away. But it's my first time here. Well, I guess you should know," Natasha shrugged, "I mean with Wakanda's non-outsider policy and all that. Kinda puts a damper on tourism, don't you think?"
T'Challa laughed.
"Well, and here I am, thinking that you people from SHIELD knew every nook and corner of Wakanda already." T'Challa added a nonchalant shrug of his own with a smug smirk, "what with Wakanda appearing all over SHIELD's radar and all that."
Natasha's smirk transfigured into a throaty chuckle, "Touché. And you came about this knowledge how?"
T'Challa's smirk widened, "Like I said before, Miss Romanoff, Wakanda's resources are considerable."
"Considerable resources, yes. But tourism? Not so much." Natasha said wittily.
"And to answer your first question," T'Challa grinned in amusement, "I'm taking you to the place where the Captain is currently staying. The Royal Guest Suite. I've arranged for your accommodation to be in the same building as the Captain's. Your suite is just one floor above the Captain's. That is, unless… if you'd prefer to stay in the same suite as the good Captain…"
T'Challa smirked at the end of his sentence.
Natasha rolled her eyes. Men.
"No. An extra room would be much appreciated thank you very much." Natasha said firmly, but her expression appeared amused.
"If you say so, Miss Romanoff. If you say so…"
That smug expression never left T'Challa's face for the rest of the car ride.
11.47PM Wakandan Time
Natasha Romanoff's Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa.
It was an impressive suite, no doubt.
The entire living area was an open plan room, well, with the exception of a large bedroom at the end.
Natasha entered the bedroom and checked it out while T'Challa stood outside in the living area having a phone conversation. There was a King-sized bed and a mahogany nightstand beside it. The bathroom was located in the bedroom too. It all seemed pretty luxurious and well-made for a country which allegedly hosted very little guests.
T'Challa had just got off his phone when Natasha went back out into the living area.
"I hope that the suite is to your liking." T'Challa stated as he pocketed his phone.
"It is pretty nice. But it's a damn shame that nobody's gonna use them after we're gone though."
"Well, not exactly. Sometimes, this place would be used to accommodate Wakandan high ministers when they visit Central Wakanda for meetings."
Natasha nodded.
She opened her mouth before shutting it again in hesitance.
The subtle act did not go unnoticed by T'Challa.
"What is it, Miss Romanoff?"
"No. It's nothing. I just… Thank you, T'Challa. For all this."
For taking care of him. For bringing him back alive.
"You're welcome, Miss Romanoff. You can stay here for as long as you like. And... I'm sorry to say this, but the terms and conditions that I've told you about in the car ... those can't be helped... I've really done my best, Miss Romanoff." T'Challa shot her an apologetic look at the end.
"It's okay, T'Challa. It's just how the world works. So, I get it. Besides, you've done more than enough for all of us. You've kept him safe and brought him back alive. And..." Natasha sighed, her voice turning into a soft whisper, "and that's just..."
T'Challa nodded, "It's the only thing that matters, right?"
Natasha smiled, "It's... " She lowered her gaze to the ground, "It's enough..."
"Well, it's my job to make sure that it is." said her host.
"Lucky us, then. A lot of things could be done if we have Wakanda's support. I mean..." Natasha paused and made an open-armed gesture at the space surrounding them, "you guys really have everything here."
T'Challa smiled.
"Well, we do strive to improve and upgrade our infrastructures as much as we can. And, before I forget, I should also inform you that any facilities in Central Wakanda are yours to utilize throughout your entire stay. Including," T'Challa threw a pointed look at the nasty bruises on the spy's neck, "our medical facilities."
Damn. Really gotta put some make up on to cover the bruises before I go to Steve's.
Natasha smiled tentatively as she lifted her right hand to cover the nasty contusions on her neck, "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
"Alright then. Have a pleasant evening. Oh, and also, will you save me some pain by staying the hell away from our computer systems? If you need anything intel-wise, all you have to do is ask. And by asking, I meant asking with your mouth, not your fingers." T'Challa said as he began heading towards the door.
Natasha chortled at the comment.
"I'll try to keep that in mind. But I make no promises."
T'Challa's hand was already touching the door handle when he suddenly stopped in his track. He turned back to face Natasha again. His expression humorless.
"I can't help but notice that Captain Rogers is very affectionate of you."
"Do you now?" Natasha raised her brows.
T'Challa's lips curled into a smile.
"He wasn't hiding it very well. He spoke very highly of you. And he seemed to care very deeply about your well-being. Just this morning, he literally pleaded me to offer you with the same protection I had offered to Mr. Barnes."
Try as she might, but at that moment, Natasha couldn't help but feel the flutters seeping into her heart and the butterflies twirling around in her belly. All of a sudden, the room felt all too warm.
She cleared her throat once and recovered herself.
"I'll be sure to thank him, then. And for the record, I care about him too. I…uh… I owe him."
T'Challa smirked, "Trust me, I know, that you care about him. So much that you'd zap me with 2000 volts of electricity thrice for his sake."
Natasha threw a sheepish look at her host.
"Oh. Yeah… that. Sorry. No hard feelings?" Natasha cringed slightly at her lame attempt at an apology.
"All forgiven, Miss Romanoff. I understand completely."
T'Challa's smile was kind and sympathetic, which had Natasha going onto the defensive instantly.
I don't need no pity.
"Your magnanimity deserves honor." Natasha remarked drily before allowing a smirk to take over her countenance, "Want a medal?"
Whenever she needs to hide her emotional vulnerability, wit and humor would be the first thing she would turn to, always. Luckily for her, the King of Wakanda seemed to have a decent sense of humor as a series of contagious laughter erupted from within T'Challa.
"A medal won't be necessary. What is it with you and medals anyway?" T'Challa gave her a funny look before continuing, "Anyway, I'm glad that Captain Rogers has you by his side, someone who's worthy of his companionship."
Natasha eyes widened with shock. Being worthy of Steve's companionship? HER?! NATASHA MY-LEDGER-IS-DRIPPING-RED ROMANOFF? Worthy, of STEVE PARAGON-OF-VIRTUE ROGERS' companionship?
Effing wow.
Did hell just freeze over? She kinda assumed that it did.
Seriously, other than Laura, no one else's ever said that to her. Not even Clint had ever mentioned it so directly to her face.
She quickly recovered.
"I uh… thanks. I guess? Well, he kinda needs someone to watch his back and keep him in line from time to time. He tends to punch his way out of things, if you haven't already noticed."
T'Challa smiled, "True, but I don't think it's that simple."
"Oh, really. And why's that?" Natasha questioned, her eyebrows raised.
"The Captain seemed… troubled. And tensed, as if something's been bothering him. It took me quite some time, but I now have a pretty good idea of what it was that's been bothering him. That being said, I think what the Captain needs the most right now is closure. And somehow," T'Challa threw her a pointed stare, "I think you are the only person who can give him that closure. Think very deeply about it, Miss Romanoff."
Natasha stared blankly at the closing door.
No clue what that was all about.
11.55PM Wakandan Time
Steve Rogers' Guest Suite, Central Wakanda, Africa
He was hungry.
And there were no more bananas left to save him this time.
The banana bonanza from the afternoon had long been depleted. He had munched off the remainder of them amidst the internal debate he had been deeply engaged in roughly an hour ago (about the things he wanted to say to Tony in his letter). Frankly, Steve wasn't even sure if his letter could get the point across. For all he knew, his friendship with Tony was already ruined beyond saving. He briefly entertained the idea of picking up the PBX and calling the front reception again to request for another stack of paper. Fire-proof ones; just in case Tony decided to burn his letter without ever reading it.
As if that'd make a difference.
With a sigh, Steve signed off the second letter he had penned, folded the paper and slipped it into an empty envelope. He then dropped the envelope beside another envelope containing the first letter he had composed. He leaned forward in the tall stool he was sitting on and placed both elbows on the kitchen counter top.
The first letter was addressed to the New Avenger's Facility.
Steve glanced at the envelope containing the first letter. Once again, a pang of guilt and regret overcame him as he read the first line of his own handwriting at the front of the envelope. It was the name of a friend he had recently lost – Tony Stark.
He stared at the name for what felt like hours. Cycling through each alphabet in the name, repeatedly, unendingly, ad infinitum. He paused a little at the 'r' in 'Stark'. He noticed that perhaps he might've put a little too much curve at the top of the 'r', making it appear more like an 'n' instead of an 'r'.
He ignored his little observation and thought back to the letter's contents.
Had he said enough?
Would Tony even read it?
He didn't say much, that was for sure. Hell, there wasn't much for him to say, even.
What the hell was he supposed to say anyway?
What, like, 'Hey, Tony? I'm sorry I lied to you for months about your parents?'
Or, 'Hey, Tony. Sorry that I punched you and dented your little metal helmet. Though if I'm honest, you pretty much kicked my ass back there. Guess we had finally settled that score between us the day we first met, huh? When I asked you to put on your suit and go a few rounds…'
Yeah. Like those would help.
In the end, Steve settled for a short prose which began with his expression of relief at Tony's return to the compound and a short ramble about his own faith in people. And then a few lines after, Steve had included a short but heartfelt admission that he had really been sparing himself by concealing the circumstances of Maria and Howard's death from Tony. There was also a brief mention of the Accords and Steve's own dramatic way of saying that they should both just agree to disagree, that he'd respect Tony's viewpoints on the Accords. The letter ended with a promise.
Feeling the strain of his emotions, Steve flipped the envelope over on its back, as if the sight of that name had stung his eyes. He turned his attention to the second envelope instead, which was yet to be addressed.
Steve had qualms about writing the second letter if he was honest, for he was beyond certain that he would be crossing a lot of lines had he chose to deliver said epistle. After a few moments' internal struggle, Steve steeled his resolve.
Post it, Rogers. This isn't about you or your guilt. You're doing this for Tony's sake.
Without another second's hesitation, Steve picked up the pen and wrote on the second envelope:
MISS VIRGINIA POTTS
CEO OF STARK INDUSTRIES
STARK INDUSTRIES HEAD QUARTERS
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Dropping the pen back onto the countertop, Steve picked up both envelopes and stood up from the tall stool.
There. All done. I'll ask T'Challa to deliver them for me before I leave Wakanda.
Satisfied with his work for the night, Steve made a beeline for the bedroom to put away both letters.
Come to think of, I've still got that energy bar kept in the suit's utility belt. Might as well grab that on the way.
He had just picked up his utility belt when he heard an insistent rapping of knuckles against his door. He paused in his actions, waiting for a couple more seconds just in case he had imagined the sound, not an unlikely occurrence, given his glucose deprived brain and all (he tends to hallucinate if his blood glucose dropped below optimal levels). But as it turned out, there was no mistake. Somebody was knocking on his door, and rather enthusiastically too, if he might add, judging from the rapid successions of the sharp rapping sounds.
Who could that be?
Steve eyed the compartment of the utility belt containing the energy bar while his nightly visitant rapped away at the door.
In the end, he had opted not to answer the door with a snack bar stuffed in his mouth, courtesy of his omnipresent politeness.
With a groan, he flung the utility belt unceremoniously onto the bed and began walking out of the bedroom.
Can't a hungry guy have his supper in peace?
For a moment, Steve thought that he had gotten a whiff of Natasha's sweet floral scent as he was crossing the span of the suite towards the door.
Congratulations, Rogers. Now, you're really hallucinating. I bet Erskine would be so proud of you.
Must be the hunger, I guess. Steve thought when he finally reached the door.
He hadn't bothered with the peep-hole. Honestly, he just wanted to get this over with and return to his supper.
The knocking on the door finally ceased when Steve turned at the door handle and pulled.
THWACK!
The door was stuck.
Right. The security chain.
As Steve lifted his left hand onto the chain, his nose caught yet another whiff of Natasha's scent. This time, however, it appeared to be stronger.
Yeah right, keep dreaming, Rogers.
Steve gave the chain a couple of tugs.
It's probably a common cologne. Anybody can wear it. Don't get your hopes up.
The annoying chain was removed from its slot after quite some effort.
Seriously, whoever this is had better be some Wakandan Samaritan coming to deliver a second round of banana bonanza, or else-
Steve yanked the door open.
In an instant, the feminine scent which had occupied countless of his wildest fantasies barreled through the doorway, smacking him full force in the face.
His jaw went slack in disbelief, and his eyes as wide as the shield that was formerly his.
Any thoughts about food were blasted to kingdom come by the sight of the beautiful woman standing in front of him. Her clothes were plain, simple, and black from crown to toe. Yet the plainness of her outfit did absolutely nothing to curtail the tantalizing beauty that Natasha Romanoff possessed in such overwhelming abundance.
Steve's mouth watered. And it ain't got nothing to do with hunger.
Her voluptuous hour-glass figure was clad in a black tank top and skinny fit black pants with a pair of heeled knee-length boots covering the bottom half of her legs. Over that ridiculously sinful tank top, she donned a black round-necked leather jacket, one which literally gave out an I-know-I'm-hot-but-I-can-still-kick-your-ass-in-one-thousand-ways sort of aura. Long and wavy fiery-red tresses framed her angelic face, accentuating every square-inch of her alabaster complexion. Her sharp, evergreen eyes held his baby blues in a teasing stare. God, he could really lose himself in those eyes forever, drawn inexorably into the hues of emerald that they held, allowing himself to be siphoned into a realm of eternal bliss.
And then those lips, Christ, those luscious and kissable lips were configured into her trademark smirk, teasing him, beckoning him, reminding him of how much he had wanted her, how much he still wanted her. All of a sudden, the sparks of desire, which he thought had long abandoned him, came surging back, re-entering his system in the most abrupt of ways, igniting every nerve ending in his body as every inch of his skin scorched with pure, unadulterated want.
Natasha Romanoff was gonna be the death of him one day.
And he found that he didn't mind that one bit, because if there was one way he was gonna die without any regrets, it would be to die in her arms, with the image of her beautiful face being the last thing he sees as the life slowly drains out of him.
All of a sudden, his hunger didn't seem quite as important anymore, so much so that he'd gladly tell his hunger to go have sex with itself right about now.
Those luscious lips began to move.
"Hey soldier."
God Almighty. Steve nearly came undone at that sound.
That sultry and husky voice that was so undeniably hers.
Good God. She was here. She was really here. Good freaking God.
Yeah.
It was decided.
His hunger could go fuck itself for the rest of the night for all he cared.