Phil Coulson was not really dead. Maria Hill knew this. The Avengers did not. So when he "died" she acted as though he had, and that meant she had to take on some of his responsibilities. He had left letters to some people at SHIELD, which he had expected them to read when he was actually dead. Maria's read:
Agent Hill,
If you are reading this, I am dead. This is the least of your problems because you are now the handler for Strike Team Delta. This entails much more than briefing and debriefing. I have left you with a small list of rules to guide you in your attempt to lead them.
1. Don't let them anywhere near the rookies. They will terrorize them. More than once they have been the reason a promising kid drops out.
2. Don't imply that they are in any sort of relationship beyond partnership. They will not take kindly to you bringing up the obvious unresolved sexual tension between them.
3. Never split up Strike Team Delta. This is the most important rule. If you only need one of them, send four junior agents which is their approximate equivalent. Do not send one of them on a solo mission. I repeat, do not send one of them on a solo mission.
And, Maria, don't overwork yourself. You're a smart young woman and you've worked hard to get where you are, don't ruin it by working yourself to death.
Best of luck in your endeavors (you'll need it),
Phil Coulson
Maria smiled, but waved off his warnings. She would follow the first two rules, because she had already learned those lessons, but she ignored the last two. Surely, she thought, they were adult enough to handle being apart for a few days. And as for overworking herself, she would never slow down, not until she was Director or on The Council. Just then, a flash of red on her computer told her there was serious mission in the works. They would a need someone to follow the mark, pick up a pattern and strike. It would take no longer than a week. Hill decided she wanted eyes in the sky on this one. That only meant one person.
"Agent Barton, report to the command center." Hills voice resounded over the PA system.
On the other side of the helicarrrier, in his bunk were Agents Barton and Romanov. Upon hearing the call, they both stood and walked to the room where Hill was waiting. Agent Hill was surprised to see Natasha right next to Clint as they entered the room.
"Agent Romanov, why are you here?" Hill inquired.
"You called us here." Romanov replied, confused.
"I called Agent Barton here. I have a solo mission for him." Hill explained. Natasha and Clint looked at each other briefly, silently communicating their disapproval.
"What's the mission?" Clint asked.
"Observe, track and take down the mark. From a distance." Hill informed. "You'll be leaving in half an hour."
"That should only take a few days." Clint commented.
"We expect you here for debriefing by five o'clock on Friday." Hill returned.
"You better not be late, Barton." Natasha interjected.
"I promise I'll be there by 7." Clint replied.
"Be where? Late for what?" Hill asked.
"Movie night." Natasha replied simply. Clint nodded. He left the room to go pack, and tossed his keys to Natasha, who caught them lithely. She walked out to his rusty old Ford and drove to her apartment. It was Monday, so she only had to wait four days for Clint to get back. She was alright that first night. A little bored, but alright. She went down to the gym and worked out until she was tired, then went home and took a shower. She couldn't sleep, so she hopped in Clint's truck and went over to his apartment. She pulled out her key, being the only other person in the world with a key to his apartment, and laid in his bed until she fell asleep. The next day was not so easy. She wasn't hungry so she laid in his bed all morning, breathing in his scent. She stripped down to only a camisole and underwear and pulled on one of Clint's old flannels. Then she opened up the dresser on the left side of the bed and pulled out a pair of her shorts. She kept shorts and t shirts here because he always kept it too warm for her. A lasting effect of her nationality, she was never cold. She missed Clint like crazy. Her other half was missing and it felt like a part of her had been ripped off. She got up and walked to the liquor cabinet. She shook her head at his meager supply, then grabbed the only two bottles in the cabinet and grabbed a glass. They were both bottles of good scotch, but she got through the first bottle in just three hours. She popped open the second and took a swig, no longer bothering with the glass. A few hours later, she was passed out on the couch, holding her knees to her chest and pulling the flannel tighter around her.
Meanwhile, Clint set up on the rooftop, swearing. He resolved to finish his mission as quickly as possible to get back to Natasha. It was only Tuesday, but he needed to get back to the fiery redhead he missed so much. I shouldn't miss her this much, Clint thought. She's just my partner. Just partners. They'd been telling people that for years, but lately it felt like more. If he wasn't on a mission he would have run all the way back to New York just to see her. He smiled, remembering he'd given her his keys, at the thought of her driving his truck. She always told him he needed a new car, but didn't seem to mind last week when they had driven out to the countryside and laid in the truck bed to look at the stars. Or the week before that when they hunted down an old drive in theater and watched some old black and white. Clint couldn't remember what movie they'd seen because he'd been watching her doze off on his shoulder. Clint shook himself, pulling his focus back to the mission. Dammit Barton, he scolded himself, focus on the mission and quit thinking about your girl back home. His girl? Did he really just think that? Clint groaned. It was going to be a long couple of days.
On Wednesday, Maria got worried. Natasha hadn't checked in with SHIELD since Clint left. She opened up the letter Phil had left her and found another note in the envelope that she hadn't noticed before. The outside read 'In Case of Emergency'. She opened it and read.
You split them up, didn't you? I told you not to. You should have listened.
If it's Natasha that's on a mission then you'll find Clint in Harlem, drag racing Natasha's Corvette. He loves when she drives too fast, and he's missing her. If he's not in Harlem, he's at her apartment drinking cheap beer and reading her book of Russian Fairy Tales, the ones she reads to him when he's injured or sick.
If it's Clint that's on a mission, Natasha is at his apartment, listening to his music and drinking herself into oblivion. She'll be passed out on his bed in one of his old flannels.
It is vitally important that you stop them from doing something dangerous because they can and will do anything to get to each other. Like I said, you should have listened.
"Shit. Now I have to deal with this." Hill muttered. She drove to Clint's apartment and knocked on the door. No answer. She quickly picked the lock. She walked in and a gun fired, a bullet was now embedded in the door frame above her. Natasha faced away into a pillow and her arm outstretched towards the door holding the gun.
"That was your warning shot. What do you want, Agent Hill?" Natasha asked; her voice was low and throaty from the abundance of alcohol she had drunk.
"I came to make sure you were alive. Coulson left me a note explaining where you would be if I sent Clint on a solo mission." Natasha turned around at the mention of Clint. Her scarlet hair was a mess, her makeup was smeared and she wore little more than Clint's black and gray plaid flannel. Maria sat next to her.
"You really miss him." Maria stated. It wasn't a question. Natasha was listening to Clint's old country CD's, mostly George Strait, and was in drunken stupor that would have overtaken anyone except the Russian.
"You shouldn't have sent him on a solo mission." Natasha replied.
"I know. I'm sorry I took him away from you." Maria apologized.
"Don't say it like that. You make it sound like we're dating." Natasha said; a tinge of wistfulness could be heard underneath her scorn.
"When was the last time you ate?" Maria asked.
"What day is it?" Natasha inquired.
"Wednesday." Maria informed, concern was prevalent in her voice.
"Monday morning. Clint made me pancakes." Natasha replied. "I've probably gotten enough calories in the drinks. I've had two bottles of scotch and three bottles of Russian vodka Clint had hidden in the back of his freezer."
"How are you not dead?" Hill asked, shocked.
"Russian." Natasha replied. "I need more."
"No, you need to shower and eat some real food." Hill responded. She pulled Natasha off the couch and led her to the master bedroom/ bathroom. Natasha opened the linen closet, got out the burgundy towels she used when she stayed over, then went to her dresser and pulled out clean clothes. Maria lips twitched into a half-smile as she watched Natasha navigate Clint's room like it was hers. When she got in the shower, Hill went out into the kitchen and cooked up some French toast and bacon. Natasha came out of the shower in a fresh gray camisole, black shorts and another one of Clint's black and gray flannels. With her eye makeup washed away, the redness in her eyes became apparent. She ate obediently and went back to the couch.
"I'm going to go now. I'll check in tomorrow morning and then Clint should be home around 7 on Friday after the debriefing, ok?" Hill explained to Natasha.
"Bring me more vodka." was Natasha's only reply. Maria chuckled, and then went out the door. After an hour of being mostly sober, Natasha couldn't take it anymore. She went downstairs and across the street to the liquor store. She picked out 3 bottles of premium Russian vodka and 2 bottles of Kentucky bourbon to replace the scotch she had taken from Clint's cabinet. She pulled out Clint's credit card to pay for it and went back to the apartment. She put the alcohol away, except for one bottle of vodka, which she promptly opened, diving back into the numbing world of intoxication. Just two more days, she told herself. Two more days until you get your Clint back. Wait. Her Clint? What was she thinking? These were her last conscious thoughts before she fell down the rabbit hole of vodka and country music and missing Clint.
Clint woke up on Thursday reluctantly. He had a basic pattern of his target, but nothing definite and he was not excited to spend another day on the roof. All day he would sit there, and only twice a day would he see the target. He let his mind wander. He thought about Tony's newest invention, Natasha's new haircut, Thor's latest visit to Midguard, Natasha's new perfume, Bruce's last temper tantrum, Natasha's upcoming birthday (He had imported a few bottles of her favorite vodka, which were hidden I his freezer). He realized he always came back to one thing. Natasha. His Nat. The only way to stay motivated for this mission was to focus on getting back in time for movie night. It was at his place this week, and she'd probably be there waiting for him. She'd be livid if he was even a minute late. He wondered what she was doing to pass the time. He figured she was hanging out at Stark Tower with Pepper, or hanging around the helicarrier to freak out the rookies. He had no idea what was really going on back at his house.
"What the hell, Natasha?" Maria exclaimed. She found Natasha passed out on Clint's bed covered in every blanket she could find. An empty bottle of vodka on the floor and another in her hand told Maria all she needed to know. Or at least, almost all. "Romanov, why are you covered in blankets? I thought you never got cold."
"They smell like him. Like man's soap and hard work. And his cologne." Natasha answered. If she hadn't been so smashingly drunk she would never have admitted this. Maria sighed.
"I know I shouldn't ask, but is there something between you two?" Maria asked gently.
"Just partners." Natasha muttered in reply.
"Just partners don't drink themselves to death when the other isn't around." Hill reasoned.
"Fine. But I know Clint doesn't do this when I'm not around so don't talk to him about it." Natasha relented.
"That note Coulson left me, saying where to find you, it also told me where to find Clint of you were gone. It said Clint would be out drag racing your Corvette or drinking beer and reading your book of Russian Fairy Tales." Maria told her, knowing she shouldn't be interfering.
"Idiot. That explains why I can't drive through Harlem without getting challenged and why there's brown stains in my book." Natasha muttered, more to herself than to Maria. Maria patted her on the shoulder and left quietly. Knowing Clint missed her didn't help, in fact it made her need him even more. She took another swig of vodka and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Natasha woke on Friday around noon, showered, got dressed and sat on the couch. She was glad there was no vodka left because she wanted to be alert when Clint got back. She laid around, watched TV and tidied up a bit. Then she took the mass of blankets and made a pile in the living room, moving the couch out of the way and throwing every pillow and cushion on the floor as well. At 5:30, Natasha knew that Clint should be back at base getting debriefed. At 6:00 Maria burst into the apartment.
"Where's Barton?" Maria asked.
"I was going to ask you the same thing. Has he not reported back at base yet?" Natasha asked, fear edging into her voice.
"No. He hasn't made contact." Natasha and Maria waited together in fearful silence. At 6:58 Clint burst through the door with flowers and a bottle of vodka. Natasha breathed a sigh of relief.
"I wasn't late!" Clint proclaimed proudly, handing the vodka and calla lilies to Natasha. She set them on the table and pulled him into a fierce hug, which he quickly returned. They plopped down onto the pile of blankets and popped in the movie, Tomorrow Never Dies.
"You didn't come to debriefing." Maria stated, and Clint looked at her like he was just now noticing her.
"Tomorrow." He waived her off.
"Now, get out." Natasha added. Hill left, annoyed, but smiled when she saw Clint and Natasha curled up together in their little nest of blankets.
After she left, they watched the movie in a comfortable silence. Natasha laid her head on Clint's chest while he put her arm around her and she stretched her legs over his. She was now almost completely on top of him. He kissed her temple gently. She turned her head towards his and put a light kiss on his lips. The intensity heightened. They were no longer innocent "I missed you." kisses; they were full blown "I need you" kisses. The movie was forgotten. Clint rolled Natasha onto her back and planted kisses up and down her neck, always coming back to her soft lips.
The next morning, they wake in their nest. Surprisingly, it isn't awkward at all. It's just new. Deep down, they both knew it was inevitable. They go about as usual, except for the kisses they steal on occasion. As much as it hurt while they were apart, they wouldn't have gotten together if Agent Hill hadn't ignored Phil's warning.