I'm Sorry | Natasha Romanoff

Chapter 12: So It Begins

An: Can one of the Gracie Abrams fan tell her to release the live version of This Is What It Feels Like. I need the ass shaking version. I can't keep crying to the original.

This one is a little short and unedited I just felt like posting it to give you guys at least something.

Natasha lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Sleep had always been elusive for her, but tonight, it felt impossible. She tossed and turned, her mind too loud, thoughts too tangled to find any rest. The events of the past few hours played over and over in her head like a broken record—the jet, Steve, Sam, and Natasha herself all unconscious, only to be dumped back at the Avengers Compound like nothing had happened.

But something had happened. Natasha had spent enough years as a spy to know when she was being kept in the dark, and Jenna had always kept her in the dark. Hot and cold. Caring one minute, betraying the next. It was exhausting.

She sat up, letting out a slow breath, running her hands through her hair as if that would untangle the mess of thoughts swirling in her head. She couldn't shake the question: why? Why had Jenna brought them back here?

Natasha could still hear Jenna's voice in her head, the cool, detached tone she'd adopted on the jet when she'd explained her actions like they were nothing. Like it didn't matter... as they were chess pieces to be moved on a board. But that wasn't what gnawed at Natasha.

What gnawed at her was that this time, Jenna hadn't hurt anyone.

She could've. She'd had the power to, the opportunity. And yet, she hadn't. Natasha had seen the ruthless, the willing to burn bridges and people to get what she wanted.

But today, despite everything, no one had been harmed. Not physically, at least.

Natasha leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her fingers pressing against her temples. Why couldn't she just talk to me? That question lingered, raw and unresolved. Jenna was always dancing around her true intentions, playing mind games, leaving Natasha to guess, to chase after whatever small glimpses of honesty Jenna allowed her to see. They had a history, one tangled in trust, betrayal, and something that Natasha still couldn't quite define. That undefined space between them was where Natasha had been left—adrift, always wondering.

What had Jenna meant when she said Natasha would need her team? Why all the cryptic talk, the vague warnings, the games? There was no reason Jenna couldn't have just been straight with her.

A wave of frustration surged through Natasha, tightening her chest. She stood up abruptly, pacing the small space of her room, trying to shake off the tension coiled up inside her. Her mind flicked back to that look Jenna had given her—the flicker of something in her eyes, just for a moment. Was it regret? Guilt? Natasha wasn't sure. But she'd seen it. Jenna had let her walls down, just for a second, and then immediately put them back up.

All the betrayals, the manipulation—it was like Jenna didn't know how to be anything else. But Natasha had seen another side of her once. She'd seen a woman capable of something more than deception, more than destruction.

That's what made it hurt so much. Jenna would give Natasha a glimpse of something real, then snatch it away.

She was tired of it. So tired.

The more she thought about it, the more restless she became. Sleep wasn't coming tonight, that much was clear. She needed to do something, anything, to get her mind off Jenna and the tangled mess they'd become.

With a heavy sigh, she walked over to the small closet, pulling open the door. But as she started to unzip the suit, she felt something odd, something tucked in the pocket of Yelena's vest that she had been wearing earlier.