Martasha/Black Hill. Whatever you want to call it. Follows the aftermath of Captain America 2. Missing moments I guess you could call it.


The last time you kissed her was in the facility, moments after you finished stitching the bullet hole in her shoulder.

The last time you spoke to her was when you were standing over the grave of Nicholas J. Fury, saying goodbye.

The last time you saw her was when you looked in your review mirror and watched her drive away.

You tried to ignore the crushing sensation in your chest.

That was months ago.

SHIELD is gone, and you work for Stark Industries.

It's gone and you haven't heard from any of them. Not Fury, not Coulson, not Barton. Not her.

The meetings have lessened but you are still called into see countless Congressmen when they discover something they missed before.

Every single time with a smug grin, they think they have you, a reason to lock you up.

And every single time with a steely glare, you're calling them amateurs in your head, and you remind them that they need you.

You have no idea how, and Pepper commends you for it, but you manage to survive it all.

It's just what you do.

You're Maria Hill.

But at the moment, it doesn't feel like who you are.

You've been on automatic since she left, putting on an act when you need to, preferring to pretend that you haven't been able to feel that crushing feeling for months.

Late nights are spent either in your office, or on your couch, Stark Industries paperwork spread out around you as you bury yourself to pass the time.

You don't know if or when she's coming back and it seems like a productive time to waste the time.

You've been ordered to give yourself the night off from your boss; it's raining heavily outside, and the wind is howling up the block that you can hear from your fourth floor loft apartment.

There is a knock on the door, but you only barely hear it over the wind. You had taken to staring at that simple band that was on your left ring finger; it had been there since not long after New York had happened. She had a matching one.

With a glass of wine in your hand, you rise from the couch to slide the door open to see her standing there.

The glass nearly slips out of your hand.


Should I continue?