A/N: I love the Avengers movie, and I especially loved Black Widow, and Agent Maria Hill. The first part of the movie belongs quite rightly to these ladies. Enjoy!
FORGET YESTERDAY
Natasha does not enter the room.
Closing the door behind her, she instead is leaning against it, just looking at the brunette. She has checked on Clint already; endured his teasing remarks about her over-protectiveness with a shrug and a smile. He gets her, like almost nobody else does, and it goes without saying that he'd be doing the same if their roles were reversed. She smiles at the thought, knowing their joint experiences have somehow forged a bond, unbroken through all the corpses collected between them.
Agent Hill, she knows, regards their kind (her and Clint and the others) as 'alien' most days. Because she isn't employed at SHIELD as an assassin, and couldn't therefore understand their seeming lack of a conscience. She supposses their coldness is the price they pay for being so good at their jobs. It's generally accepted, half expected by most. Yet Agent Hill does neither. While she might acknowledge their aloofness as an asset, the brunette also considers their distant-ness a liability in certain situations. It has made for some spectacular de-briefings at Headquarters.
Her own ruthlessness has never been questioned, until now. Everyone knows she was the last agent inside when Loki came for the tesoract. And when it all crashed down, with Coulson dead and Bannerman gone, she was still standing; consolidating the diverse skill-set of the heroes left into a unit the world's leaders could use. The 'Avengers' of Director Fury's wet dreams. But that was different, because she was trying to save the world. Only it wasn't, not really.
Now she is sitting on the bed, tilting her head to ease the tension. She sighs at Natasha, still eyeing her from the doorway.
"Are you just gonna stand there? Staring?"
The window is slightly open, letting in a cool breeze. Natasha traces the goosebumps on her arm with a finger, frowning at her reaction. She knows the dance, knows the steps and its variations intimately. She can tell exactly how this little ditty is supposed to play out, but ...
"I just need ... Make me forget."
She's never spent that much time with Agent Hill. She's never really been all that comfortable around women, whether a fellow agent, or a mark. Sure, she can seduce them, or kill them; pretend to work for them while casing a job. But she doesn't do this has no idea how to be herself when that is what's being required. She doesn't mind being used as a tension-reliever; it works both ways, really. But there is a vulnerability in the room, and it touches her. She cannot be removed from it; her actions refuses to be anything but genuine.
It is perhaps not what Agent Hill -Maria- needs from her, but she realizes that it's what she needs. She shakes her head at her own sentimentality; wonders what Clint would say; imagines Fury's cynical response to her lack of same. But this is not a job. This is not going to save the world. And maybe, she can let go, for a while? Just be a women; lucky to still be alive, yet grieving for those who aren't.
"This won't be a job."
Maria's eyes on her are hopeful. And her body, naked and waiting on clean sheets, is unexpectedly inviting. Natasha has been so deep in thought. she's completely missed the rustle of clothes being removed. A steady inhale, and her decision is made.
Slowly, Agent Romanov approaches the bed. And hopes to forget, herself.