Dear Inkdrops, in honour of Endgame (and all other Marvel movie of course), I decided to write another Fury/Hill themed story. Fury might be a bit OOC, but on the other hand, who knows what his going on in the mind of his? I hope you enjoy the story anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel.

Never crossed the Line

It was dark and he had no recollection of where he was. Was he laying on the floor? Or was that water around him? He couldn't quite say it. After a time he became aware that he was drifting, without any apparent purpose or destination. He knew how he had ended here, of course. There had been an energy signature. A helicopter had crashed. They had gotten out of the car, then, suddenly, his partner had vanished in front of his very eye. She had simply disappeared. In the last second, he had managed to grab the transponder, to send a call for help to his long-lost friend who was probably too far away to hear him anyway. Then he had feel himself dissolve as well.

Nick Fury had never been afraid of dying. If you were, you couldn't do the job he had been doing so well for so many years. People often claimed he was suicidal, that wasn't true though. Really not. He had far too much to live for, at least most days he thought so. Like saving the world for example. He didn't really feel dead though, but what did he know? After all, his own death had been faked. Maybe he should have asked Coulson after all. Or Melinda May, from what he had heard through the grapewine. Or maybe even Loki. Though he was convinced that bastard would have just lied to his face. So rather not.

He liked to think that he had always tried to do what was best for the world, even though his means were often unconventional, to put it mildly. If there was something like heaven and hell somewhere (and he wasn't convinced that there was), maybe he deserved to burn in the latter. Maybe not. Who knew? Definitely not him, while he was randomly hanging here in nothingness, probably not getting anywhere. He was sure about one thing though.

He had just lost his year-long deputy director and partner. Of course Fury had alway known that this could and probably would happen one day. Either she would get killed in their line of work, or she would finally have enough of his methods and walk away. The second scenario was far more likely, for the simple reason that the woman was an exceptional soldier and agent who would be really hard to get rid off. Also, he knew that he could be a reckless idiot sometimes and even though his companion had always done what had to be done, she was far more by the book. Hell, she had nearly sold him out to the World Security Council a couple of times!

Maybe their different approaches made their combined work such a success. He had already been afraid of her not coming back after HYDRA rose out of the shadows. That she would go down in what had once been the Triskelion. But no, she had responded to his call. Had firstly helped to save Captain fucking America's ass and then played her part in faking his death. Her perfomance even fooled Romanoff, and that was something!
Working for Stark industries had been her idea, and even though Fury had the impression she grudgingly learned to respect Stark and genuinely liked Pepper Potts, the woman had been his double agent as well. She had known about Theta Protocol and fought on the helicarrier in Sokovia, even though she knew it would might cost her her job and make her a hunted individual.
Maybe she had always planned to join the secret S.H.I.E.L.D. again, he mused. As an emergency escape, if things went South. It would have been a good plan. After all, Coulson had been one of her closest friends once. A good agent, but more impotantly, a good man.

Probably working with the Avengers after Ultron had been the right thing for her in the end, especially having Rogers, Romanoff and Barton around. He wouldn't lie to himself, he had missed her for the time since she had stopped being his deputy. Well, he had appreciated her before, sure, but he had learned that even he only really appreciated things if he didn't have them anymore. What was the most unsettling thing was that he hadn't just felt her absence in a professional way but also on a very profound personal level. He had even missed her pragmastism and dry humour more than Coulson's big heart and compassion or Danver's snarkiness and attitude. But that couldn't be.

Nick Fury didn't do personal. Not anymore. He didn't do trust. He didn't do real attachment. (With a few exception. Like, four maybe. And the fucking not-cat.) But he strictly didn't do relationships. And especially he didn't do love. Besides the paranoia that they would double-cross him at some point, he would put any partner in imminent danger. Asking that from another person was impossible, even to his standards.

When Stark had finally fired her after what people had nicknamed the "Civil War" and she had joined him again, he had been relieved. Not that he would ever tell her, but he was pretty sure she knew anyway. Though all of a sudden, he wished he had really, verbally told her. Told her a lot of things. That she had always been his first choice when it came to having his back. That he was grateful for her being there when it mattered the most. That he would watch her six when she needed it. That he would kill everyone very slowly and very torturously if they ever dared to put a finger on her. That he cared. That she looked lovely in a red dress.

Where did those thoughts come from? Just from floating with nothing to do? Was he going crazy? Or had that been here all the time and had just been too busy and too stubborn to let his thoughts wander there? Nicholas J. Fury tried to push all those unwanted pictures away from his mind (not that they were unpleasant, and that was exactly the problem here), but it didn't quite work. They just kept coming.

Her picture on her military file, looking so young but already such a decorated officer. Her at their first meeting, wearing slacks and a navy blazer. Her dressed up to the nines in a golden dress for an undercover mission. Her sparing with Romanoff. Her on the bridge of a heli carrier, barking commands. Her shooting a bullet, killing the Chitauri behind him. Her standing in front of the door of his safe house, hair and clothes wet from the rain and clinging to her body, doing nothing to disguise how trained she was. Then the image of her disappearing in front of his eyes. Her expression not pained or scared, but terribly confused.

He had seen horrors during his life as a soldier and as a spy, pain, suffering, misery. Aliens and gods (well they were also aliens, but anyway). But in all that time, nothing had scarred him that much as this.

And that was, when in the darkness and stillness and forgetfulness of oblivion Nick Fury realised that he indeed loved Maria Hill. And he would never have the chance to do anything about that.

Thank you for reading!