Maria Hill stood at attention. Sleep pressed at her eyelids.
It was four AM and darkness licked at the frayed corners of her mind. She manned the bridge as standing on the Director's observation platform.
The task at hand was clear; Director Fury was meeting with the board of security. In his absence, Maria was acting Director of SHIELD. The luxury of sleeping was hardly a priority. She had an agency to run. However, four days without rest took its toll.
The soft drumming from keyboards lulled Maria's attentive mind. Her tight muscles softened at the sound, and went lax under the gentle sway of exhaustion. A rare moment of calm defused her. Her eyelids reluctantly surrendered.
Fleeting relaxation was promptly snatched from her.
"Get some sleep."
Adrenaline surged; Maria was startled awake by a low tone. She pivoted on her heel. Director Nick Fury stood before her.
Confusion struck; how the hell had he returned without prior notice? Maria had full moderation on aircraft traffic. No plane passed without her permission. Her mind was obscured by sleep as she furrowed her eyebrows.
"Sir, w-"
"The council dropped me off," he explained, cutting her off, "seems their jets are a step up. Got clearance beforehand."
Maria digested the explanation. Her initial confusion dissipated; the council could override air traffic control. Damn. She distractedly realized that exhaustion seemed to heighten her senses. She could –what the hell- smell the Director's woodsy aftershave, though he stood several feet away.
"That was an order." Fury's abruptness made her flinch. "Go to sleep."
"Sir, that's not necessary. I'm assigned this duty." Maria dismissed. She wasn't up to surrendering her dignity; she was the goddamned assistant director of SHIELD. She was met with a condescending expression.
"You were assigned duty of watch, asacting director. Agent Hill."
Maria narrowed her eyes, obviously offended. Fury merely smirked.
"Sir, I have to fulfil my duty until the shift is finished, even upon your return," she reminded sternly. Her actions were entirely rationalized by the rule book.
"Overturned. I'm getting tired just looking at you."
"You can't overtu-"
Fury took two swift strides, and the distance that separated them dissipated. He looked down at the agent's deprived features. Maria's jaw locked and her spine went rigid. Many had tried to intimidate her in the past, and so few failed to stir a reaction. In fact, Nick Fury was the only person who genuinely worried her; a feat of which master assassins' would grow jealous over. Exhaustion lowered her tolerance.
If this man, this stubborn, brilliant man honestly believed that he could intimidate her, he had another thing coming for him. Maria met him with a level gaze; failing to budge.
Fury appeared to back down. He gradually stood back before turning to the great glass windows.
Maria's body failed her a moment later.
The fall was instantaneous. Sudden darkness overthrew the depths of her subconscious. Her legs bucked beneath the weight of exhaustion. She instinctively reached for support as falling to the floor.
Awareness returned to her in a downwards rush of nausea. Maria bowed her back and clutched for balance, only to find that she was being held upright by other forces. Secure fingers encircled her upper arm and a large hand spread across her shoulder blades.
She looked up and saw Director Fury. Intense concentration slated his features. A sickly swell of embarrassment rushed over Agent Hill. It took her several seconds to realize that she had fallen victim to a sleep attack. She grit her teeth and proceeded to curse the betrayal of her body.
"Want to rephrase that?" Fury mutters. His low tone grew quiet, and Maria was damn well thankful for that. The Helicarrier's bridge was fitted with dozens of agents. A few had turned their heads, curiosity piqued by the commotion.
"I want to do my job," she hissed in a whisper. Fury's lips twitched; the motion was sullen and unnerving.
Maria attempted to peel away from Fury's grasp. He needed to stop; this situation was a risk to her dignity. Fury stood back. He recognised discomfort in his agent's too-blue eyes. He moved to stand by her side. He kept his hand on her back, between the dip between shoulder blades.
He walked her out of the bridge.
"Sir," Maria warned. Her protest was futile; she reluctantly let him take lead. The bridge was at their back. She soon found herself within the Helicarrier's curved halls. The corridors were godlessly cold. Chill sunk through Maria's uniform – her second skin- to gnaw at flesh.
Few agents dared to stare as the Director and Assistant Director made their way to the lower decks.
Nestled beneath active floors were the allocated private quarters. Agents made a home of this area. There was a hierarchy down here; Agents shared rooms, and senior agents gained their own quarters.
They stopped in front of the Assistant Director's room. It was tucked four doors down from the Director's quarters. Maria attempted to pull away from Fury again. His hand fisted at her shoulder blades, drawing a shudder.
"Not going to have you play dead on the floor again, Hill," Fury chided dryly before opening the door.
The space was simplistic; bed, compact wardrobe, small private bathroom. Everything was measured and familiar.
Maria strayed from the Director's side. She pressed past him, moving into the room. She felt at ease in her sterile surroundings. Fury's hands dropped to his sides. He chose to finally –finally- stand down. He merely followed.
Maria sat upon the bed's edge. She began the methodical process of taking her boots off. Fury leant against the far wall, waiting with apparent disinterest.
"With all due respect, why are you still here, Sir?" Maria questioned. Her tone was chipped by exhaustion.
"I'm making sure my Assistant Director doesn't pass out on the floor, Hill."
Maria narrowed her eyes. Now rid of thick boots, she eased herself down. It took incomprehensible effort to stay awake once her back was to the mattress. The pillow was light beneath her head— she couldn't even feel her bun, which pressed to the back of her head.
The sudden swell of woodsy aroma signalled a shift. Maria glanced upwards. Director Fury now knelt at her side, looking oddly bemused.
"You trying to give yourself a headache?" he asked. The question was met by a confused furrow of eyebrows.
They exchanged deadpan expressions. Fury tapped two fingers to the back of his head. Your bun. Oh; Maria snaked an arm back to undo the tight bun. She rocked her head from side to side, evening her hair out. Dark brown hair brushed over her shoulders.
At any other time, she wouldn't have followed his suggestion.
"Your expertise on hair leads me to question why you have none," she murmured. Her sarcasm was the result of sleepiness.
Fury paused to fix her with a ruthless stare. It took no less than five seconds for him to surrender a chuckle or two.
"How uncharacteristically disrespectful, Hill."
"So is babying the Assistant Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. No. This…doesn't surprise me. For…for a man who thinks of superheroes during times of war…"
Fury's amusement died with those words. He sobered; he was only too aware of Maria's opinion. He rose to his feet in one agile move.
"Go the fuck to sleep."
Perhaps Maria did sleep. Her exhaustion had been quelled in the darkness. She couldn't remember much else of that night. However, she could recall those five blunt words, and the weighty presence of her boss' aftershave. She awoke to see a sticky note plastered to her wall. 'Let's not make this a regular thing, Hill. Now get to fucking work.'
Nick fury managed to single-handedly convert a curse into a fond remark. That…bastard.