#brutallyeffiicient

In all honesty, he would've preferred to be anywhere but there. Hell, he would've been content wandering around one of the fight clubs that existed in the city if it meant not dealing with everyone there. He'd never been the team sort and he definitely wasn't the Avenger sort, and yet they decided to drag him for who knew what. Something told him it was for some of the work he did in the city. Even though he made a point of avoiding them, there were still plenty of times when their paths crossed. Marc was certain one of those times was the reason he was there. But then why were some of the others there? All of it just felt off and he wondered just how easy it would be for him to slip out without anyone noticing. Had it not been for Romanoff he would've done just that. "Or maybe you can tell me why we're all here."

He’d been terrified to broach the subject. I know you, three words he never thought would be so damn difficult to say but it seems to happen more often than not these days. Natasha was no exception.

“We trusted each other, once, when we probably shouldn’t have.”

And it had been a reprieve, a full-body sigh of relief saying it, but relief is only momentary - a half-bridged gap. They’d both been tired, the kind of run-down exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix. Doubt causes him to wonder; maybe that’s all it had been, or maybe that’s all they’re used to. The latter seems more reasonable, more realistic, at home within strain and secrecy.

But he looks at her and hesitation still paralyzes him, drawn back into memories and guilt, broken bones and things they had to do to and with each other in the name of loyalty (and he tries to latch onto the rest; she was the only person he cared about– and it only makes sense, looking back, that he loved her; why else? why else would he–).

He looks at her and hesitation paralyzes him because he doesn’t feel like a whole person (she deserves one) and he wants so badly to be that person (he feels like one, with her).

”Captain America: Civil War” AU – during the United Nations meeting in Vienna, Austria, the bomb never goes off. The Sokovia Accords are successfully ratified.

“Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill, I wouldn’t think that you would be particularly comfortable in this company.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“That alone makes me glad you are here, Miss Romanov…”

He was certain that these negotiations were not quite going in the direction that she nor any of the heroes she represented were wanting – the Accords had been strict before the amendment process had begun, and the stipulations were only increasing as the meeting drew on. He could hear the growing frustration in her voice as every motion she made in an attempt to maintain autonomy was struck down by popular vote.

“I know that apologies will not remedy the damages that have been done this day,” he approached her after the meeting had ended, “but I am sorry that this has happened,” he spoke sincerely.

A medical kit rests on the table to his right, open and clinically spread out beside the array of weaponry and surveillance equipment, the latter of which emits a faint crisp of static. White noise. Ignored. Instead he stares ahead at the wall, watching the clock and the second hand twitch away the minutes. He has seven before he’s to report a compromised mission status.

He wipes away the bloom of red lining his lower lip with the back if his thumb. He can feel it begin to well up anew, fresh and determined, but pays it no further mind. He should service his weapons. Protocol, habit (or something that's not quite boredom, something he can't place and doesn't bother chasing).

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