I felt it then.
Back in New York when the Chitauri invaded and I was left behind as the Avengers went to save us. I was left staring blankly at the field of projections and monitors displaying the opening of that damnable portal and the subsequent damage to New York. Zooming in on the chaos that would later be named the Battle of New York. I still stood there on the bridge of the helicarrier, unconsiously holding my breath. Trying to spot flashes of red and black amongst the carnage.
Then, the World Security Council decided to save the world by sacrificing the lives of everyone stuck in the city. A part of me would have died- almost died when that fighter took off with their nuclear payload that would have wiped the city off the map.
In any other circumstance, I would have been livid. I would have flipped the fuck out on them for that, but I couldnt. I ordered my crew to ground the rest of the fighters and ordered the other two to return to the helicarrier. I was too late and Tony Stark, the man who has been a pain in S.H.I.E.L.D.s collective ass, had saved us. I stood on the bridge, silently awaiting a mushroom cloud, unblinking and clenching my fists so tightly that I made myself bleed, but it never came.
In what I thought could have been my final thoughts, I thought about her. I might as well. Her red hair. Like blood. Like how she describes her ledger. Her lips, giving that infernal smirk. The one that lets you know that you're stuck in her web. Her hands and fingers; either balled up for a fight or carding through her hair. Those curves which are actually weapons in themselves; hardened muscles playing just under the soft ivory skin. I've survived the Black Widow, I just wanted the both of us to survive THIS.
But that mushroom cloud never came. Tony Stark- Iron Man guided the nuke through the still-opened portal. That man irks me still, but after that I could no longer bring myself to hate him. He saved her-us-the city. I at least owe him for that.
The world started to bleed back into my thoughts. I needed to focus on the task at hand and not let anyone see that I no longer felt like the Commander. No longer felt like 'Hard-ass Hill'. But I had a job to do. I was Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, and I needed to take charge of relief and containment efforts. I could feel the cold mask of indifference fall over my face as I turned to the nearest agent and started barking orders. I knew a meeting with the World Security Council and Fury would be scheduled for this afternoon. Our real hurdle would be collecting and catologing the dead aliens and making sure that thier tech stayed out of the hands of people like AIM and Von Doom.
I'm pretty sure only two people aside from the one invading my thoughts would have known that I wasn't one hundred percent on task. Fury being one of them. Phil- is dead now. He always knew when there was somthing going on in my head. He was a great agent. A better friend. And Loki had stabbed him in the heart. He was gone before our Med-techs even got into the room. I took a deep breath and turned back to Fury, who was looking at a video feed of Coulson's autopsy from medical. 'That man has something planned, and knowing him I'll most likely be dragged along for the ride. Probably as he gives me and anyone else around his damned One Man speech.' I refrained from rolling my eyes as I turned my attention back to an agent finishing up his report from the ground near Grand Central.
"Hill." Whatever it is, it's not going to be helpful to the current situation.
"Sir?"
"I need you to rendezvous with Romanoff and Barton on the ground. Since I'm down one of the greatest handlers I've ever had and my one good eye besides, I've arranged for the safehouse near Stark Tower to be cleared out for the three of you." He knows then. Huh. "And Hill? Take a few days. This paperwork isnt going to go anywhere anytime soon. I've got a feeling we'll be stuck with this shit for a while."
Knowing when I was being dismissed, and probably being put on Medical leave due to the cave-in a few days ago (and the subsequent concussion and sprained limbs) even though I've said that I was fine, I turned and walked off to my office/bunk to go pack for the safehouse. Civvy clothes, laptop, boots, and toiletries. I change into civvys myself, grab my bag, and take a look at my spartan quarters before I turn and walk to the deck where my ride to the safehouse is waiting for me.
The quinjet dropped me a few blocks down from the safehouse. Close enough to where the cleanup was to not look out of place dropping a civilian off on a city street. I walked in the direction of Stark Tower and sent a message for both Romanoff and Barton to meet me at the safehouse.
"Robin?" That stopped me in my tracks. 'Oh no.'