Romanogers - Oneshots

I'm yours, always

The tension in the room makes it hard to breath. voices overlap, thick with tension as the arguments bounce around the room. Bounce around her brain. Bounce like balls, colliding, making the biggest racket. The pounding in her head is familiar in an unfamiliar way. Indecision makes her brain ache.

For the first time in her life, Natasha doesn't know what to do. She's alone in a forest, a forked path in front of her. Kindly strangers keep tapping her shoulder, trying to tell her which way they each lead, the advised route. But she doesn't hear them. The words don't get through, they mash together in a cacophony that feels as foreign as another language (one she can't speak, of course).

For the first time, there is no obvious, logical decision to be made. Sometimes it's hard, but there is always a cogent path to choose, even if it hurts. Cold hearted, but necessary. But now, there's nothing. She feels no inkling, no gut feeling, no intuition. Just at an utter loss.
Steve and Tony throw cases back and forth. Natasha can feel her mind swaying like a tree in a storm. Everything they say makes sense.

Natasha wants autonomy, yet she doesn't want unrestrained freedom. She agrees that there must be repercussions for the destruction they've caused, call it what you want, unnecessary or unavoidable. But then again, efficiency would be greatly decreased by council supervision. She knows that the team needs the flexibility they hold, and these Accords are pushing them into an increasingly rigid mould that will inevitably break at some point, forcing them all into an early retirement.

There's the team though. Natasha's eyes scan the tight faces of those around the table and knows she can't lose this. She can't lose them. She needs them, every single one, more than they need her doubtless, more than she needs anything. She needs her friends, her family, to stay together, whatever the cost. And she's not stupid. There is an obvious, or soon to be, split between them all. The ground is moving, breaking apart; she doesn't know which side to step on.

Her eyes brush over Wanda, the girl who sometimes reminds Natasha so desperately of herself, twisting a lock of mahogany hair carelessly around one finger. Sam, who she knows will side with Steve whatever, soft chocolate eyes conflicted. Tony is surprisingly non-verbal while others bicker, eyebrows knitted in a grimace. Steve. She longs to squeeze his hand, smile some sort of comforting message over the colliding trains of thought. He meets her eyes and she can't bring herself to. His eyes are martyred, and opaque as a stone wall. There's something moving beneath them, an entreatment for help, support. He wants her. Her help. She should speak up, respond to his plea, but her throat feels dry, and for once she's scared of saying the wrong thing. Because though she knows where her heart leads, her head is telling her that should she follow it they will lose, and she's suspicious that 'retirement' is not as innocent as it sounds.

There is a choice between head and heart. One that may hurt more than she's prepared to feel. And Natasha suspects she's going to choose the one she's always chosen.

Finally she swallows and speaks her mind, words acid in her throat.
"Maybe Tony's right."
Faces turn her way. Tony's head snaps up, surprise imprinted onto the raised eyebrows and widened eyes. She can see he'd almost immediately written her onto Steve's side. But she can't.
She looks back at Steve. Something's come over his face. A film. His mouth is set in a line, eyes dark and full of betrayal as she carries on.
"If we have one hand on the wheel we can still steer..." He holds her gaze, the essence of her words dawning on him.
"Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her arse a few years ago?" Sam says sceptically.
"I'm just...I'm reading the terrain." She can hear the note of desperation creeping into her voice as his face morphs into a blank sheet of paper. He's trying to hide from her, hide his thoughts, emotions, all of which were ready to pick through previously. She's the enemy now, she doesn't deserve to know. But she can still see the hurt underneath. It radiates through the veil over his face. Her deceit sets his mouth in a hard line. Jaw clenched, he looks to the floor.
"We've made some very public mistakes." Her voice sounds increasingly shaky, desperation to somehow change his mind, make him see, trembling her lip. "We need to win their trust back." Natasha can feel herself losing what seems like everything as he gives a slight shake of his head, disappointment palpable.