Chapter 1
Its 0730am when Natasha walks the corridor of the helicarrier. She is early for her briefing post mission. The mission went well, she didn't get much nightmares this time at night, the mark went with them without needing convincing on their part. Being under heavy fire help in the matter. She scientist is now under SHIELD protection and his genious brain out of Hydra's reach.
She walks past the Deputy Director's office and sees the door slightly open. She frowns. It isn't like Maria Hill to be sloopy, the woman is like a machine, firing orders with her clean uniform, her steady stance and her fierce expression. Her eyes though are always what gets Natasha's attention. They are so blue, so full of her steeled personality, they could pierce any armor and bend any knees to the ground. The woman is an unstopable force.
She is the perfect soldier, ranking deservingly above everyone else on SHIELD, she is the second in command after Fury. And she is not sloopy. Ever. Yet, her door is opened.
Natasha passes in mission mode, her steps are light, her movements smooth. With practiced grace she flows to the door, listens carefuly. She only hear papers being moved, pencil scratching pages of reports, she assumes, nothing else. She scans the ambiance, but detects no wary vibes. She trusts her instincts enough to sneak a peak in the room. There is no one here except the Commander, bent on her desck, emerged in her work.
Natasha looses the fighting posture, but her frown comes back when she leans against the door frame and pushes the door wild open without disturbing the Deputy Director. The mouvement should have make her jump to attention, grab a gun and aim at her direction, ready to strike. As it is, the fierce woman is still head down in her paperwork, blinking furiously. To focus. She is leaning on her elbows, one hand supporting her head, the other pointing a line in the report in front of her. She isn't moving, her eyes unseeing. She is fighting her exhaustion.
Knowing the woman, after five years working with SHIELD, Natasha can only imagine how many days Commander Hill spend on call, working hard to keep the ship flowing and everyone under her guard safe, from the class one agents to the top. She is the will maintaining SHIELD together. But at the end of the day, even the strongest person is only human, and need to rest. Now.
'Maria'
It is the first time since they meet that Natasha allows herself to call the Deputy Director by name. The name rools on her tongue, gentle. Her voice is smooth when she calls her, not wanting to stratle her and send her on tension. Even with that precaution, the Commander's previous tiredness vanishes when she turns around, hand flying under her desk. Probably reaching for her hided gun. Good. She is still the Commander Hill they all know and respect. Well, actually at least half of the agents fears her a little too. The woman is intimidating to say the least. She forces you to be better.
Her face looses her hard lines when she reconises Natasha. She doesn't have the energy to speak, aparently, otherwise Natasha would be in for a lecture about ethiquet and such. Instead, the Deputy blinks her eyes in acknowledgement, then turns to her desk again. Natasha is short from snorting at that.
'When was the last time you slept ?' she asks instead, her voice still gentle. The only time she ever uses that voice is with Clint's children. She discovered her ability to be nice, kind even, while spending time with the happy family. She would have never imagine using it with the strong Commander. Ever. Yet, here she is, talking to her like to a small child, but in the morning light Maria Hill looks like one. A child who needs to be shoo to bed, tucked in and read a story to sleep. The image should be disturbing, but it's not. To Natasha, the sight is intriguing, and a little bit cute. She would never admit that to anyone. She barely admit it to herself.
Maria Hill, Deputy Director, the instopable Commander, is cute.
The sigh that leaves the Deputy's mouth, probably without her consent and realisation, is enough to shake Natasha into action. She knows that going frontal with the woman isn't a winning strategy. The Commander is stubborn, unyielding, she doesn't take orders well, even those disguisted as advice. So she foregoes words. Instead she moves closer to the ever working woman, until she is right behind her chair. Still, the Commander doesn't react. She accepts having a agent moving arround in her office without purpose. She accepts having Agent Romanoff, the Black Widow, lurking behind her, unsupervised, doing God knows what in her back. This, more than anything, makes Natasha's heart skips a beat. Because she knows that not even in death Commander Hill would drop her guard arround anyone she doesn't fully trust.
Yet, here, now, her guard is down, her back is to her, and she doesn't tense, she doesn't care. Because she trusts Natasha.
If she wasn't a master of controling her emotions, skashing it to the ground before learning to walk of speak, Natasha would have cry. After five years earning her place among SHIELD, the silent trust Maria Hill is showing her today is the highest award there is.
A small smile brasses her lips when she leans foreward, reducing the distance. Her voice is even more gentle when she speaks next, and she blames her emotions for that. She isn't as efficient to erase her feelings as before. Since joining SHIELD, she did the opposite, in fact. Clint, Coulson, even Fury, all showed her it is good to feel, to express her feelings, to laugh, to cry, to mourn. She has come a long walk from her starting point out of the Red Room.
'Maria' she calls again, voice wavering – a little . She hopes the Commander doesn't notice the slight trembling in her voice, but of course it is the Deputy Director she is talking to. She notices. Still, she doesn't react. It is like coercing an animal.
Being this close to her now, Natasha sees the rigid posture. Hill gives out waves after waves of exhausted tension. The woman doesn't break, the woman never break. But she can be bent.
Slowly, Natasha extends her arms and puts both hands on Maria's shoulders. The Commander stiffens immediatly at that, almost droping her pen. She doesn't say anything, and after a heartbeat she exhales and releases her tension. Still, her muscles under Natasha's fingerstips are tight as she starts to massage the aera.
She takes her time, staying on each spot of the higher back, coaxing the tension out of the body. She poses a rhythm, working silently in soothing movements with her thumbs through the uniform standard jacket. Maria doesn't move at first, she doesn't go back to her papers either. Then, with a quiet sign only Natasha practised ear can pick up, she drops her pen moves her arms out of the desk, droping them to her side. Her shoulder blades eased, ready for more relaxing. Natasha complies.
They stay in silence still, when Maria moves again. Ever so slowly, as if surrendering with slight reluctance but still keeping her pride intact, her head drops forward, clearing her long neck. The silent invitation is enough for Natasha's strong fingers to reach the smooth skin and start kneading there. She sees the shiver her touch creats, the goosebumps. She feels the same shudder from head to toe, but none of their mention it.
They stay like this for a while, maybe fifteen minutes, Natasha doesn't count. She should, because she has a debriel to get to. But she doesn't think about it now, she is too submerged in her tarsk, in the woman under her fingers. In their quiet trance like, they are leveled somehow.
For a short moment, Natasha is no longer a SHIELD agent, an ex-KGB assassin, the Black Widow. She is just Natasha, the woman, massaging Maria, who is not the Commander Hill bad hass, the Deputy Director machine. She is just Maria.
Natasha is just taking care of Maria, and nothing else matter.
It is a magical moment.
But then, like every moment in life, it doesn't last. She energy shifts in the room, and it's time to move. Natasha has tamed the Commander, surrendering her tension under her massaging motions, now is time for the next step. Slowly, she ends her massage with a carress of her neck, fingerstips striding in brown hair at the base of the skull. She puts her hand flat on Maria's neck, the other one slides on her arm, never breaking contact. The touch is intimate for them. They don't mention it.
'Come' her voice is soft, a whisper in the quiet room. The fierce Commander complies with heavy limps. Slowly, the chair rolls back as Maria gets on her feet, her eyes still closed. As she rises Natasha's hand glides along her neck to her lower back, lingers a little as if saying good by, then leaves. The skin of her hand tingles, mourning the warmth. Her other hand slides along the arm and catches a wrist. Gently, Natasha leads the way to the bedroon next door, her index finger drifting on the palm of the hand, her other fingers firmly hocked to the woman's wrist. Again, Maria fallows without a fuse, her eyes barely opened.
The Deputy Director's quarters are in the nicest part of the helicarrier. The bedroom is big with bright windows letting the morning light in. Out of habit, Natasha quickly scans her surroundings while guiding Maria to the large, inviting bed. As soon as she reaches it, the woman drops flat on her back, arms spread, eyes closed, ready to sleep on the spot. Natasha chuckles a little at the sight. The Commander is definitly no more, only Maria remains in front of her, only for her to see. She knows the priviledge that is. For a moment, she allows herself to bath on it. She feels elated, and she allows herself to be. She doesn't question it.
She makes quick work of the boots, decide not to push and leave the rest of the uniform in place. Maria would have to undress herself in her sleep if the pants bother her. She'll just help moving out of the tight jacket before leaving the woman to her deserved rest.
'Turn arround' her musky voice rings out. Maria grunts and with a push in the right direction, finaly complies. Natasha bends, grabs the sleeve, clear out the shoulders and remove the item. The Commander isn't moving. Natasha's gaze linger in her almost relaxed face, then her soft hair still restrained by the bun. Her fingers remove the rubber band and clips, putting them on the side table, before coming back like flyes to light. She feels the need to touch the softness of the woman, to ease as much tension out of her as possible.
She sits on the bed next to the sleepy form.
Slowly, Natasha's fingers slides in locks, spreading hair, carressing, before going for the skull. With smooth cercling motions, she starts a new massage for the head, knowing full well how much Maria uses it every awaking moment. How much her brain must need the relieve. She doesn't hesitate after that. Again, she poses a rhythm, loses herself in it, massage every inch of skull accessible. She doesn't touch the face, but her eyes do, they caress as her hands would, they smooth as her fingers to the skull. She contemplates how with each passing minute the hard lines of Maria's face abate, how innocent the woman slowly become. She leaves her burdens at the door, her rank at the desk. She leaves it all and finaly allowes herself to relax completly. Her breathing is deep when Natasha ends her rubbing motion. Slowly her fingers leave the softness of brown locks, her eyes caress the woman's face one last time before she gets up in one fluide move. She feels cold, standing alone out of reach, out of the warmth of Maria. She shakes her head to clear her mind, but the strange feeling lingers. Longing. Like a squez in her heart. She never felt that before, she doesn't know what to make of it. She decides not to dwel on that, it will pass in a few minutes. She goes to close the curtains when she hears the barely articulate voice of the Commander.
'Thank you Nat'ssh'
Natasha swallows hard, gazes at the woman hard asleep spread on her front with locks everywhere, before closing the door. Her hand lingers on the handle, and she realises she is trembling. She tries to ignore her body reaction, her heartbeat speeder than usual, and focuses on her day instead. She is in uniform, on the helicarrier, it's morning. She is late for briefing.
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TBC
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A/N
So, i wrote that this morning, not edited, sorry ! hope you like it. There will be more to it
again, english isn't my first language, sorry for the possible mistakes !
:o)