—

When she calls out his name (—five letters, Latin origin meaning "crown", and it's a really suiting name for a man bearing the weight of humanity's pride, now that she thinks back—), it's soft and warm and so humane that she's not entirely certain if she's heard herself right. She's not something that's human anymore*, so really, where did all this come from?

In the back of her mind, a scene is played on repeat and she adores it with every play pause stop repeat reverse play her brain would force her to envision. And, though it's not something she would have liked to relieve in that exact moment, the remembrance of having Captain America—no, she amends, Steve Rogers—hold her like she's fragile glass instead of unbendable steel, fight her demons away with chaste kisses like she actually deserves to be treated in such a manner, and love her (—a child who murdered her faceless mother, a girl blamed and hit and spat by her own father, a person who has nothing to her name but several ranks and questionable motives—) is not something she could just will to stay put.

And, neither can she ignore the phantoms and lingering shadows of his palms on her cheeks, reassuring her that it's alright she's alright she's Maria Hill from Chicago, Illinois the right-hand agent of Nicholas Fury and she's alright going to be alright because dammit if that's not who the Maria Hill I know is, so when her pulse catches up to her and the moment has passed, she's disoriented and dizzy and so so guilty for being jealous of the people he's sacrificing his life to.

She amends, once again, envious, because being jealous would imply that she has him in her grasp in the first place, when the fact is contrary.

The signal crackles, "Do it." And, like thunder rumbling under her feet, slow yet loud, she realizes that he's too far gone and too far away from her reach now. Maria doesn't have him any longer (—never really had him beyond whatever it had been they used to have—), but though the sudden knowledge bites, she has orders and orders are ultimate.

(Perhaps that had been her downfall, following orders, neverminding the dubiousness of each case and mission she be demanded to do well and succeed because she already knows*. Perhaps that had been his downfall too, orders, that he asks too many questions yet gives in to the commands, and doubt is a destructive thing in the playing field where instincts and cunning and schemes are its basis. Perhaps that had been the downfall of it all, she's just too jaded and he's just too damn persistent, and she's helplessly—desperately—hoping it's not.)

(She pitifully clings to a childish thought where it's her choice and his choice that they left things where they have been—a mutual ground—and not just another sad outcome of varying interests.)

Though her hand is cold, she doesn't shake when she decreases the targets' population of seventy million people to three some-billion dollar helicarriers. She doesn't hesitate when she leaves the communications room, firing through HYDRA troops on the hunt, even when her fingers twitch in sporadic times. When she retrieves Nick and Natasha and flies the helicopter, she doesn't pause to look at the fiery destruction of the earth-defense project she had once devoted her self in personally developing—personally protecting. She doesn't think to chance a glance at anything but the sky and the falling headquarters, because Steve Rogers won't die and the people he had protected will not die if she has any say to it.

Golgotha crumbles to its foundation, and Project Insight drowns like fallen angels thrust out of heaven.

—

When she visits his private room, Marvin Gaye is playing in the background as he sleeps. Nick has given her a few minutes until he needs her to drive him to his grandfather's safe place and her job interview even lesser. He's outside the hospital, and that's fine with her, because Nick knows and, though Nick isn't benevolent, he is good and that's all she needs to know.

She closes the door and pulls the shutters on. Steve looks dead amongst the white sheets, and it almost surprises her. She only sighs, however, and though quite silent, it is fond, and she reaches to trace the cut on the corner of his mouth, sewn. His eyebrows aren't drawn like they usually were and his breathing is relaxed. Nick had told her he's stable and resting, but Maria knows that she shouldn't expect him to wake up soon.

However, humans hope, and she's no different, because at that moment, if only a little, she's human, and humans hope. So, Maria does—hopes that he would at her visit, but well. Seeing him at an unguarded calmness is enough. She brushes her lips along the invisible lines on his forehead, and though his skin feels too cool, she lingers.

Her few minutes are up.

She stands, straighter now, and she casts him a fleeting glance before turning. She doesn't expect Falcon to be there, but she's impressed at how quiet his entrance is to be too disturbed. (She makes a mental note to recommend him to Nick.) "You know, it wouldn't hurt to talk to him."

"He's asleep. I don't think there would be any point in having a conversation if one side doesn't have the proper state to be interacting with the other."

Falcon laughs, beautifully and unrestrained. "It doesn't mean they can't hear you." He shakes his head and clicks his tongue, and she finds this disbelief as if his words are basic information and that you should know this amusing. "Cap's asleep, not dead, Miss Hill."

"I know."

And, she's walking again, towards the door, before swinging it open. Falcon's still looking at her, his gaze searing hot on her back, and so she sighs and looks back.

"And, call me Agent Hill, Sam."

She smiles when she steps out of the room, closing the door behind her with a practiced flourish, and she leaves the remnants of a dying and bleeding human heart at its doorsteps. It's kind of sad, she admits, but it's fine. All stories have to end at one point or the other, and though it's always been kind of sad, this is no different. However, she's serene now, and she muses, half-marvelling at the realization: a sky after a storm is always clearer, bluer, lacking the tension that had shaped and pulled the energy in the air—more free than it had been before it. (And, well, she guesses she's sort of like the sky in that way.)

Maria Hill leaves to the sound of disbelieving laughter.

—

Earth-616, Jessica Jones (2017), Agent Hill (Maria Hill): "I told myself I would serve my command with everything I had. But I knew I had already lost my rights as a member of the human race."

—

a/n: so just to get this straight, the comics mentioned above is dope so anyone who hasn't read it yet should, because wow. okay, now that that's done (guys go search for it, is good), next order of business: so i don't really ship the ship, but im fine with it. this had been inspired purely from rewatching ca:ws and noticing the hitching of agent hill's voice when she said, "but cap…" as i said, i don't really ship since im a main romanogers fan, but that was really heartbreaking and i wanted to explore the possibility (also, supporting this is the "not my first kiss since 19-something" of cap in the same movie) and as you can see, this is the result of four hours of shtuff

and yea, i ship sam and maria. its pretty adorable, in its own way. its pretty small here, but its fine. i like this input a lot. speaking of, i think the characters, especially maria, is ooc, but please forgive me for any wrong ive done (also, yea, i have a very weird shipping pattern okay? another perp i ship with cold-hearted maria is pietro the dead. its weird but im proud.)

feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated