SWIFT MOVEMENT AND A SPLIT OF A SECOND later and the redhead was sitting up on top of the kitchen counter, her bare feet hanging above the ground. She brought her overly-sweet, milky coffee up to her lips and took a sip, playfully glaring at the King over the rim of the mug. This was nice. This was something she did NOT expect to happen between the two of them. Judging by their first meeting, by the reaction that Okoye had towards the Widow, Natalia was pretty sure that the Dora Milaje were going to impale her on their weapons sooner rather than later. INSTEAD - here she was, poking fun of their King.
The redhead was not a person who was easy to be around. Sure, most of the Avengers were comfortable around her, sure, some of the agents of the SHIELD were as well. But if you took into consideration how many people she come to know through the decades of her WORK — it was a very small percent that would say she was actually ‘SOMEWHAT NICE’. The Black Widow was not a creature that needed company. Not a part of a pack. Not a part of a family. She had survived dozens upon DOZENS of years all on her own, with the constant touch of biting cold of Siberian weather. And that was alright. That was what she had been MADE to be. One of a kind. ONE, OUT OF TWENTY-EIGHT.
She grinned easily, effortlessly, though - when T’Challa mentioned Tony’s decision-making skills. “He might not be the BEST at decisions.” Natalia agreed with the statement, childishly swaying her feet back and forth “But no one said HE had to be the one to make all the decisions, Stark could gather the best and you can only choose a few to actually push out to the market.” The redhead shrugged her shoulders as if it was not a big deal - it really wasn’t. “—aren’t you already old?” Natalia teased, looking the King up and down with an arched brow, tilting her head to the side and as if she was judging his appearance “Cat’s don’t reach beyond like 15 years, you must be a grandpa already.” She could barely hold back a laugh that threatened to spill “NO WONDER you had trouble with sneaking up on me.”
he was not the easiest man to understand nor get along with himself. most people assumed his silence was arrogance and his humbleness false, a facade put up to mask the fact he had everything. did he though? prince t’challa wasn’t raised like all the normal children of wakanda who only had to focus on things within their age ranges. he had to to become a man as soon as he could stand on two feet and walk --- groomed to become a protector, a leader, a king. privileges halted what and where t’challa did and went. his father made sure studies were perfected, combat outstanding and etiquette fit for a throne. not a day would go by where t’challa wasn’t dressed regally, head held high and shoulders pushed back. all his life, he intimidated those who dared stepped within his line of sight and because of it, the panther was alone. and then w’kabi came along and days of silence were no more. it was sad, really, how he can count on one hand how many friends he had currently. even with the avengers, they seem on edge when he steps into the room to observe. shuri seems to have better luck in the talkative department with the heroes than he does and she’s the princess.
buried somewhere under the assumptions was a man capable of cracking jokes and even smiling at the dumbest suggestions. where people would find tony’s sarcasm a pain in the ass, t’challa finds the man to be amusing. he has so much and also so little because wealth cannot offer comfort and security of the heart and mind. the widow was solitary as much as t’challa but it did not mean they didn’t enjoy companionship -- they just didn’t need it. there was a difference not many comprehended. ❛ very well, i will speak with him later toda--❜ t’challa pauses at her sudden ( insult oh my goddess ) question about his age. he blinks once, twice, thrice before bringing the coffee cup back up to his lips and taking a rather long sip as she continues to judge his appearance and possible reaction.
there is none. the king still looks pleased with the conversation, like he’s won a prize and choosing from a great selection. he pulls the mug halfway down from his mouth, staring into the brown liquid absentmindedly before commenting. ❛ did you know that the lifespan of a black widow is one to three years? considering your resilience to defy scientific statistics, you are technically ancestral dust by now. so no, i cannot sneak up on particles.❜ a smile is offered, sweet and innocent as if he’s just stated a casual fact.
