Hi, so, this is my eighth fanfiction in a series of fics I'm doing in honor of Taylor Swift and my favorite album by her, Red. This one is based on her song We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. If you're interested in reading my other fanfictions, check them out! For those of you who've come from Tumblr, I post fics here that I don't post there, so follow this account as well as my Tumblr if you really like my stuff.
Title: we are (never, ever) getting back together.
Summary: "She is beautiful, in a deadly sort of manner. The way that space is beautiful. Witnessed from afar, it's stunning. Close up, even more so. It can, however, kill you." [In which Steve Rogers is a sucker for a pretty assassin who doesn't want to love. Oneshot. Captain Hill.]
Pairing: Captain Hill. Kinda. More past!Captain Hill.
Songs Used: I used the song We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together a lot, obviously, but a playlist on 8tracks titled how to be a heartbreaker got me super intune.
WARNING: Definitely not a fluff fic. So, be prepared for that. And crude language. This is set somewhere BEFORE AOU, maybe even before TWS, so take your pick where.
we are (never, ever) getting back together.
by clarabella wanderling.
"I'm really gonna miss you picking fights,
and me, falling for it, screaming that I'm right."
~Taylor Swift, We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.
Maria Hill was beautiful.
Or, is, present tense. He knows there's no use denying it, she is beautiful, in a deadly sort of manner. The way that space is beautiful. Witnessed from afar, it's stunning. Close up, even more so.
It can, however, kill you.
Her eyes were trained on his, reading him with almost no difficulty, a trick from her academy days, and one-on-one time with Melinda May, no doubt. He stares back, not so much as reading her as thinking what could have brought them here.
His mind snaps back to that day in autumn when he invited her to grab a meal after a few sparring rounds and then he thinks, oh yeah. That.
"Steve Rogers." Maria says, not unkindly, but then she shakes her head, like she is clearing her mind of poisonous thoughts. With hardened eyes she says, "Captain Rogers. I was not made to fall in love." Then, with a nod of her head and the swivel of her hips, she's walking away, all business and Commander Hill as usual, because it's her, that's her, cold and beautiful, like the stones that rested in Germany before he toppled them over.
He decides that, for once in his life, he will not be a true gentlemen.
Steve walks after her.
...
"C'mon." He insists, eyes pleading, lip jutted out, muscles flexed slightly because hey, why not?
She sighs again. "Captain-"
"Maria." Rogers repeats, "Please?"
Captain goddamn America. Maria thinks, almost snorting aloud. She glances at his arms, the muscles flexing in a way that is obviously deliberate, and feels her resolve craving, because she is tired and drinks aren't too bad. He likes her, she knows that (but not enough for it to hurt that much, at least, not yet), so he'll buy her drink, which is good, because from how he's dressed it's a pretty nice joint, and she's a little short on cash from losing that bet with Coulson (damn him). Maria nods, analysis over, and says, "I'll be ready in five."
"That's my girl." Steve grins.
"Captain," Maria ways, warning in her voice, because she cannot seem to get it into his thick skull, "I don't fall in love."
"Noted. Now go get ready." He practically pushes her towards her quarters, and she rolls her eyes.
In another life, she thinks. If she could fall in love. He wouldn't be too bad.
...
Damn it.
As soon as her heart involuntarily jumps when he calls her name, as soon as his smile makes her go just a bit jittery (Maria hates jittery), she leaves, walking towards the elevator, all the way down to the basement under the basement, the one only the dead and heartbroken know about (that is, her, Coulson, Fury, and the occasional visit from Romanoff or May), and sets up a bag, punching it until she's an ocean of sweat because she is Commander Hill and Commander Hill does not fall in love.
(But maybe...)
She shoves the thought away, collapsing on the ground to start her sit ups, eyes trained on the slow ceiling fan and not much else. She's on her fiftieth when the elevator dings open and footsteps fill the facility (Male. Lightweight. Polished Shoes).
"Love or near-death?" Coulson asks, laying down next to her, staring up at the fan. He doesn't look at her, doesn't need to, but she can sense the ever-present smile on his face and decides that she's allowed to feel platonic love, yeah. That's allowed.
"Little bit of both." Maria responds.
Coulson chuckles, "Liar."
"Ain't much else I'm good at."
"You," Phil says, turning on his side, tie falling to hit the floor, "sound like Romanoff."
"I've heard the resemblance is startling."
He laughs again, and falls onto his back, hand resting under his head. "Steve's looking for you." He seems to sense her thoughts and says, "He didn't see me, if that's what you were worried about. But he's been asking around. Doesn't seem to care that people can see right through him."
Her heart speeds up a little, but she swallows it down. "Yeah?"
(Maybe...)
"You developed feelings for Captain America." Phil states. He says it simply, like it's not a big deal, like it's not the end of all ends, and it's not, to him. But to her, it's a catastrophe.
"I am-"
"Maria-"
"-a damn-"
"-Maria, don't-"
"-murderer."
"-don't do that to yourself!" Coulson yells out, and then his voice drops to a whisper, but it carries for miles, as his words usually do. "Don't do that to yourself."
"Phil, I kill people. It's what I do. I don't do it because I'm used to it, because it's right and I'm getting rid of bad guys, like Barton or Ward or May. I don't do it because I'm used to it, 'cause I was brainwashed and want to clean my mess, like Romanoff. Not because I'm angry, like Banner. It's just who I am, Coulson." Maria says. She doesn't want to do this, to spill her heart, but Phil has a way of making people talk, and her therapist is worried she's antisocial, anyway. "I kill. I'm okay with it. I lead people into their deaths. I'm okay with it, because I don't love. I don't love that way. And now..."
"Now you don't know what to do." Coulson murmurs. "You're afraid that you'll wake up half-alive and suddenly those housewives you've murdered will come back to haunt you, 'cause in another life, it could've been you."
(Maybe...)
Maria nods.
"But it's not you. This is you. You're dead right now, and maybe Steve won't work out and you'll get back to being dead. But you could at least try, Maria. He's not a bad man." Coulson gets up, rubs his shirt, and turns on his heels, pressing the button of the elevator. "Don't do that to yourself." He repeats. The elevator closes.
Maria hums.
(Commander Hill was not meant to fall in love.
But perhaps Maria Hill is.)
...
She's wrong.
When Steve meets her a year later, wrapped in a black scarf and hands stuck in his pocket, he sees the look on her face immediately, his There's my girl smile melting off his face and eyes glued to her I'm almost living and don't like it face.
She's so wrong.
She should not have listened to Coulson because this, this, is too right, to unher, to happy and perfect and not wrong. It's confusing. It makes her feel alive. She doesn't like that. It's vulnerable and exposable and nervous, like a wound without the stitching it needs to become tough again.
He's half-prepared when she dumps him on Broadway. "I told you." She says, looking into his eyes and praying to every single legend that he doesn't see the oh my God I don't want you to go in her eyes. "I'm not meant to fall in love."
She turns, maneuvering away from him, murmuring a sorry that never reaches his ears.
"Maria!" He calls out, after her. She turns to look at him, at Steve Rogers, her (ex)boyfriend, and tilts her head. "Take care of yourself." He yells.
Those words send her spiraling back into her familiar land of the living dead.
...
"We're never getting back together."
Romanoff rolls her eyes, "Maria."
"I'm fine alone. I like being alone. I don't like love."
"You're too hard on yourself."
"You, of all people, should understand why."
Natasha shakes her head, an undeterred smile resting on her lips. "I'm hard on myself. Hard enough to know that I deserve love. Even sinners like us."
"I'm not made-"
"Bullshit, and you know it."
She does.
Maria glares back at her, "I'm not getting back with him."
Natasha nods, lips pressed together, hands rubbing against her pant's fabric. "Okay." She says, "Okay."
Her last words to Maria are, "You shouldn't do this to yourself."
...
Maria Hill is beautiful.
She is beautiful, in a deadly sort of manner. The way that space is beautiful. Witnessed from afar, it's stunning. Close up, even more so.
It can, however, kill you.
Steve Rogers should know. He's broken up with her twice, and while he's still breathing, he's figured out why she craves the land of the living dead.
It's clear, it's easy to read, nothing is vibrant or new, everything is familiar.
Steve Rogers hates it, and while he does not hate her (he's too good a gentlemen for that), he does have caution around her, because death's heart is strange, and her heart is stranger.
Never again, he decides.
And so, it isn't.
"I just, I mean, this is exhausting, y'know? Like,
We are never, ever, getting back together.
Like, ever."
~Taylor Swift, We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.
I hope y'all liked it. Forgive any timeline errors, I'm not really that up-to-date on movies yet. But I couldn't resist writing this. I hope you liked it, sorry for any spelling errors. English is hard.
Reviews would make my day!
Blessings,
Joss.