Bucky's Anchor

Chapter 6 - Lines in the Sand

The conference room was empty when Steve asked me to meet him. I stood in the doorway, hesitating for a moment before stepping inside. Steve was at the far end of the table, staring out the window. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, and as I approached, he turned to face me, his expression a mixture of resolve and vulnerability.

"Emily," he began, his voice low and almost hesitant. "We need to talk about the Accords."

I nodded, taking a seat across from him. "I figured this was coming," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "You've made your stance pretty clear."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not that simple. I wish it were." His eyes met mine, and I could see the weight he was carrying. "You know what this means, don't you? If we sign those Accords, we're giving up our right to make decisions for ourselves. We're handing that power over to people who don't understand what we do."

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "And what about accountability, Steve? What about the people who have suffered because of our actions?" I gestured vaguely, thinking of Lagos and all the incidents before it. "We have to be responsible for that. We can't just act without oversight."

He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "I'm not saying we shouldn't be accountable. But this... this is about more than just oversight. This is about control. Governments have agendas, and if we let them dictate our actions, they could use us as political pawns."

I couldn't argue with that. I had seen it before. Even in S.H.I.E.L.D., where agendas shifted with every change in leadership. But this wasn't a simple matter of right or wrong. It was about balancing the power we had with the responsibility that came with it.

"And if you refuse to sign?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "What happens then?"

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "We become fugitives. Outlaws. They'll come after us."

A chill ran down my spine. The thought of being hunted, of being seen as a threat rather than a protector, was almost too much to bear. "Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

He turned back to me, his eyes searching mine. "It's not about willingness, Emily. It's about necessity. If we don't stand up for our right to choose, then what are we fighting for?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of his words. "You're asking me to make a choice, Steve. A choice that could tear everything apart."

"I know," he said quietly. "But I need you to understand why I'm doing this. Why I can't—won't—sign those Accords."

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. When I opened them, Steve was still watching me, his expression full of unspoken emotion. "I do understand," I admitted. "I just... I don't know if I can make that same choice."

He nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. "Whatever you decide, Emily, I'll respect it. But just know that this isn't about defiance. It's about protecting our ability to do what's right, even when it's not easy."

I watched him stand up and leave, feeling a heavy knot form in my chest. The room felt colder, emptier, without his presence. He was asking me to see the world as he did—to make a choice based on faith and conviction, rather than fear and pragmatism. And as much as I wanted to, I wasn't sure if I was capable of that kind of belief.

---

Later that evening, I found myself in the gym, pounding away at a punching bag in an attempt to clear my head. My muscles ached with each strike, but the physical exertion was a welcome distraction from the chaos in my mind. I was so absorbed in the rhythm that I didn't notice Natasha enter the room until she spoke.