Heartbroken in love

Blackhill in London - part two

( where we left off)

"This is surprisingly comfy for a safe house," I say, emerging from the cramped bathroom, a towel wrapped around my head as I attempt to dry my hair. The lavender scent from the soap lingers in the air, a calming smell amidst the chaos.

Maria looks up from the makeshift command center she's set up on the coffee table, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Yeah, well, I wanted to make it at least a little bearable," she replies, her fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop. The room is dim, illuminated only by the glow of the screen and the flickering light from a nearby lamp.

I plop down beside her, the tension in the air noticeable. "We have to move fast. They're not going to wait for us to catch our breath," I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. Time is slipping through our fingers like sand.

Maria nods, her eyes narrowing as she scans the latest intel on her screen. "There's a flight for you back to New York tomorrow morning," she states, her tone firm. I turn to her, disbelief washing over me.

"What? I can't just leave! That weapon is out there, and every second counts!" Maria's gaze sharpens, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And what good will you be if you're dead? You're shot, you need to heal. We can't risk you getting caught in the crossfire." Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I falter.

"But I can't just sit here while everyone's in danger!" I shoot back, frustration boiling over as I get to my feet, pacing the small room.

"Natasha, you're shot," Maria says, her voice steady but edged with urgency. "Everyone knows you're the best, but you also know the protocol. Injured agents are prohibited from executing missions if there's backup available to take their place." She pauses, her eyes locking onto mine as she recites the words from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Articles with an unwavering demeanor. "You know the rules."

I can feel frustration bubbling inside me, drowning out her logic. "You don't understand what's at stake! You don't know what to do without me. You don't know how to make the arrest properly without my input. I know the plan!" My protest comes out sharper than intended, the weight of her reference to protocol  irrelevant to me as I focus simply on the urgency of our situation.

Maria exhales deeply, clearly struggling with the weight of my stubbornness. She sets her laptop aside, her face revealing the lines of worry etched there. "What about Victoria?" she presses, her tone softening slightly as she tries to appeal to my better nature. "Think about her for a moment... Do you really think she'd want you putting yourself in danger like this?"

"I don't care what Victoria thinks right now," I reply, my voice rising with conviction. "This is my job, and it's serious. She would understand." I believe every word I'm saying, drowning out any doubt.

Maria's expression hardens, "If you get hurt, it's on you. I won't have to explain to Victoria how you died because you were too stubborn to let me take over your work." Her words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. I can see the concern etched in her features, but I tactfully ignore it.

"Fine by me," I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper. I know she's right, but the thought of stepping back feels like a betrayal. Without another word, I turn away, my mind already racing ahead to the preparations I need to make.

I slide a gun into the waistband at the small of my back, the cold metal pressing against my skin, a familiar comfort. A knife finds its place strapped to my ankle, snug against my boot, ready to be drawn at any moment. Finally, I tuck my Widow Bites beneath the sleeves of my jacket.

As I finish arming myself, I catch a glimpse of Maria in my peripheral vision, her expression a mixture of concern and resignation. I know she's worried, but I'm not backing down. This is my mission, my responsibility, and no amount of protocol will keep me from doing what I know I have to do.