If the phrase I owe you an apology seemed nonsensical coming from Steve Rogers, the outfit that he was wearing knocked Natasha for even more of a loop. His stylist, clearly, had gone insane with joy upon hearing that Steve would actually be requiring the team's services for once, and had exploded all those years of pent-up creativity in one...incredibly ostentatious and showy burst. Stood to reason, really, if you were a stylist who had been given raw material as impressive as Steve and constantly forbidden from actually utilizing him, Natasha figured she would probably want to show off what she was capable of upon first opportunity, too.
Not a lot of things surprised her anymore, but this did the trick. Her green eyes widened to take it in - without any makeup lining them, how big they got and how startled it left her was vivid, and speech, it seemed, had deserted her for the moment. It was the first time she'd seen him since the events in District 8 and if she'd been asked to lay money on what his appearance would be like, she'd have been a very poor woman on the other side of that bet.
The other explanation, of course, was that the weapons demonstration and all the subsequent consequences had been the thing that had finally broken Steve. And that the picture before her was one of a man who had finally realized the way of the world and was now scrambling to catch up. Maybe a good thing in the long run, maybe it would even be enough to get his head out of the sniper's target, but tonight - tonight it felt like a reminder that everything got crushed, didn't it, one way or another.
"...what?" she settled on replying, finally, after an extremely long moment that had stretched just over into awkwardness. She wasn't entirely sure if that was a response to what he'd said or what was in front of her, really.