THADDEUS ROSS WAS LONG GONE by now, and all that he left in his wake was a bunch of stubborn, arguing Avengers. Unease was undeniably prevalent, wafting under the studious nose of the youngest member of the group. Calla watched from beside Natasha, unknowingly leaning closer to the woman. Steve sat in silence, his eyes drifting down the pages of the Accords, whilst Rhodey and Sam bickered behind him.

Realistically, there were only two sides to take . . . the first being in agreement with the Accords, and the second being against it. It all seemed so simple, yet it was anything but. As for Calla, it felt like she was living in a damn nightmare. The girl had never liked picking sides, let alone between the people she cared about the most - scratch that, the only people she cared about. She was being forced to choose between family members, and nothing good could come out of it. 

It felt like she was getting an ulcer.

"Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have," Rhodey stated pointedly. Though the situation had Calla's stomach feeling as if it was on the verge of imploding, she couldn't help but stifle a laugh as the man had a hand on his hip like a mother reprimanding her child. 

But as soon as the welcomed sliver of humor appeared, the feeling fled. 

"So let's say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?" Sam rebutted, and Rhodey's head snapped back to him.

"117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you're just like, 'no, that's cool, we got it,'" the man exasperated.

"How long are you going to play both sides?" 

Suddenly, Vision spoke up, earning everyone's attention. "I have an equation."

"And I have a headache," Calla mumbled under her breath, earning a nudge from Natasha. For no more than a second, the girl moved her gaze up to the woman, almost as if they were trying to read the other's thoughts; but Calla's eyes retreated before either could speak. The only thought swirling around her mind was anxiety . . . and she still didn't feel like talking about it.

"Oh, this will clear it up," Sam grumbled.

"In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate," Vision stated, his eyes blue glazing over as he pulled detailed data from every crevice of his vast mind.

"Are you saying it's our fault?" Steve finally spoke up from behind the Accords.

"I'm saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge; challenge incites conflict; and conflict breeds catastrophe. Oversight ... Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand."

"Boom," Rhodey said boastfully.

"Tony. You are being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal," Natasha mused, her attention focused intently on the brooding man who had his head resting on his hand. 

"It's because he's already made up his mind," Steve, in his quietly ever-observant way, stated. 

"Boy, you know me so well," Tony responded, wincing as he stood up and walked over to the kitchen-area of the common room. "Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache. That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain, it's discomfort," he said, though suddenly stopping as he reached the sink. "Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?"

"That actually wasn't me this time, but I did break the oven -- never mind, not the time, sorry," Calla rambled as Sam snickered from behind her. 

"I'll . . . address that later," the billionaire said. Suddenly, he laid his phone atop a basket and pressed a few buttons so that the screen projected to the room. A grainy picture of a young man appeared, his brilliant smile adorned with radiant happiness. 

"Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid; computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall - but first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world, maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia," Tony said, voice strained. "He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass."

The room was still, with no one daring to utter a word. Calla remembered their fight in Sokovia like it was yesterday. The thirteen-year-old was hypothetically not allowed on the mission, and was therefore sent to stay with agent Maria Hill. She also hypothetically snuck aboard the Helicarrier that Nick Fury had refurbished, and hypothetically joined their little escapade.

"There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys."

"Tony, if someone dies on your watch, you don't give up," Steve said. 

Calla only wished that she could see things like that, through rose-tinted glasses. With Steve Rogers, there was always a moral to learn from, but Calla Wolfe just couldn't think like that. What if a gust of black fog shot out of her hands again? What if it actually injured someone the next time around? What if, what if, what if? God, she wanted to punch herself in the face.

"Who said we're giving up?" Tony questioned back, arms crossed over his chest.

"We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame."

Rhodey rolled his eyes in quiet disbelief. "I'm sorry. Steve. That - that is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we're talking about. It's not the World Security Council, it's not SHIELD, it's not HYDRA."

"No, but it's run by people with agendas, and agendas change."

"That's good. That's why I'm here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing," Tony countered, walking up so that he stood in front of the super soldier. 

"Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own."

"What if they aren't, Steve?" Calla questioned meekly, her unsure eyes still remaining focused on the interesting table. "What if the safest hands aren't our own? You sound so sure that we're the good guys, and maybe you are . . . but am I? Because suddenly I don't really know what I am."

"Cal, you don't mean that. Your intentions haven't changed just because you're suddenly figuring out a new part of yourself. You're allowed to be scared, terrified even. But don't let that turn you against yourself," the blond man replied, loosely putting a hand on top of hers.

"That's easy for you to say - you're America's sweetheart," the teen weakly chuckled. "I don't think I'm on very good terms with America right now - or the world, for that matter."

"Well neither am I," Wanda said, the corner of her mouth upturning ever so slightly.

"If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later. That's the fact. That won't be pretty," Tony interjected, holding the attention of the room.

"You're saying they'll come for me," Wanda said, anxiously biting the corner of her lip. 

"We would protect you," Vision reassured, a firm hand on her shoulder; and Calla could help but notice the way they looked at each other.

"No one's gonna lay a hand on you, Wanda. Over my dead body," the teen assured.

Suddenly, Natasha spoke up after having been silent for the entire discussion. "Maybe Tony's right."

Calla's eyebrows raised as the girl nearly choked on her saliva, with Tony sharing a similar expression. "Are you feeling okay?"

"If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off . . ."

"Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?" Sam questioned from behind Steve, arms defiantly crossed over his chest.

"I'm just reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back."

"Focus up. I'm sorry, did I just mishear you or did you agree with me?" Tony asked, seeming to have broken free of his shock-induced trance.

"Oh, I want to take it back now," Natasha drawled desperately.

"No, no, no. You can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed - I win!"

Calla winced as a sharp pain rushed through her chest and down her arms. Her focus moved to Steve, whose eyes had become glassy as he looked at his phone. 

"Damn it," she murmured, watching as the man stood up and briskly trotted out of the room.

"V chem delo?" Natasha asked, noticing Calla's pained expression.    ( what's wrong?)

"I'll - uh - I'll be right back."

-•-•-

"I'm sorry" Calla said as she approached the handrail to the stairwell, spotting the blond a few feet below her. Steve's eyes darted up to her as he cleared his throat. "I felt it, when she . . ."

He waited a moment, before his focus moved up to meet her. "In that case, I'm sorry too," a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "It wasn't unexpected, but you knew that. You came with me to visit her a few times."

The girl nodded, walking down a few stairs to stand beside him. "Doesn't make it any easier."

The pair stood in undisturbed silence for a brief moment, letting the building settle below them. Neither really knew quite what to say. So, Calla decided to change the topic.

"Any word on Bucky?" she asked, eyes glistening with rays of hope. 

Their origin story was nothing short of complicated - but Calla owed everything to him. He was the only reason she was still breathing, and the teen would be damned if she let anything bad happen to him again.

Steve shook his head as he turned to face her. "Still nothing. I've been checking the news, international papers, but he's keeping a low profile. We'll find him, Cal. I know we will; we have to."

Calla solemnly nodded, before pushing herself off of the wall with a shaky breath. "Are we gonna be okay, Steve? The team, I mean . . . because I don't think I can lose anything else."

The man averted his gaze, as if he didn't want to lie to the girl in front of him. Every sentence that came to mind was a slightly altered variation of the same lie: 'of course we'll be okay!'

Realizing this, Calla gave one last gentle pat to Steve's shoulder, before mindlessly ascending up the stairwell. Step by step, breath by breath, she realized the inevitable destiny of the near future.

Her new family might not be whole for much longer . . . and there wasn't any way to stop it.

-•-•-

hmm, will cal want to sign the accords, or will she decide against it? orrr, will her fate be chosen for her? the answer is . . . undecided!