care and feeding of your S.H.I.E.L.D. agent
Thor notes that Lieutenant Hill sits back from the table and watches as the others lean in to get food, her face almost expressionless, but for the faint leavening of the fierce line of her mouth.
"Lieutenant," he says over Clint Barton's lean across the table, "will you not break bread with us?"
"Jump right in, Hill," says Stark cheerfully as he heaps roast meat and sliced vegetables onto his flatbread plate. "Food's hot and tasty."
She smiles then – at least, Thor thinks it a smile, although it's little more than a flick of her lips. "I'm fine, thanks, Stark."
Steve has halted, looking sideways at Lieutenant Hill in frank dismay. Two places over on his other side, Clint passes Lady Natasha the sauce bottle, then reaches for the jalapenos. "You said you were hungry before - don't you eat shawarma, Lieutenant?"
"Oh, I do." But she doesn't move to take a plate and food, just waves one hand in a lazy flip that somehow manages to convey amusement. "Don't let me keep you, Captain. We wouldn't want S.H.I.E.L.D.'s golden boy to starve."
The mockery brings a faint frown to Steve's face. His gaze catches Thor's and Thor sees the conflicts there – courtesy, gallantry, politeness, and a hint of pique. Steve reaches for a plate.
"Well, I'd rather not explain to Fury that we didn't look after another of his agents—"
He breaks off as Lady Natasha pushes him back into his chair and passes a filled plate across him to Maria. "Eat."
Lieutenant Hill takes the plate of meat and vegetables, cheeses and sauce, with what is the closest display of meekness that Thor has ever seen in her. "Thanks."
The twitch of mouth and shoulder as she meets Thor's gaze expresses her amusement and resignation most succinctly.
Thor hastily applies himself to his food to hide the laugh that rumbles in his gut.
Bruce is startled to be waylaid by Steve on his way out of the Tower and handed two takeaway boxes – one large, one small, both smelling delicious.
"What's this?"
"Curry."
Bruce's eyebrows lift. "That was you, cooking?" He scented the waft of food last night on his way down to the lab levels.
"I mentioned that food doesn't taste the same anymore and Natasha suggested I learn to cook."
One one level, it's a simple explanation that encompasses the cookbooks Steve has lately been found reading, his sudden interest in the farmer's markets, and the abrupt abundance of leftovers in the 'general fridge' - some of them edible, some of them...not so much.
Bruce didn't think about it – which is rather silly, really, since food doesn't just appear out of nowhere. But at least now there's always something to eat at four am in the morning when he has a sudden yen for a snack.
"What kind of curry?"
"Uh, Mussel—No, wait. Massaman. Beef, coconut, chilli, spices." Steve taps the larger box. "That's yours. I hope there's enough."
Bruce hopes there's enough, too. He hefts the other container – much smaller, although from the weight of it, quite full, too. "And this one?"
"For Lieutenant Hill." When Bruce lifts an eyebrow the young man flushes, but meets his gaze, candid and frank. "She called me up to ask about the increase in food expenses. I just wanted to show her what I'm doing."
Show her? Or show off to her? Bruce wonders as he sits quietly in the Quinjet, careful not to give the pilots any concern about the scientist in the passenger cabin and the less-than-quiet passenger within him.
But Lieutenant Hill looks at the takeaway container like it's a Chitauri head he's just dropped on her desk. "What is this?"
"Lunch. Compliments of Captain Rogers to explain his expenses account of the last month."
She gives him a disbelieving look and opens the container. Takes a long deep breath in as the scent of the massaman wafts out. Closes her eyes and exhales slowly.
"Perhaps you'd like me to give you and the lunchbox some time alone?"
Hill's mouth twitches at the quip. "Tell Rogers he can rack up expenses like last month anytime he wants to send lunches like this along to my office."
Pepper is curious about Lieutenant Hill, if for no reason other than that the young woman doesn't seem to like Tony. Not that Tony is always likeable- God knows there've been plenty of times when Pepper has contemplated murdering him - just that there are few women resistant to his charm, and Pepper always finds it intriguing to meet the ones who don't fold like a paper towel.
It's an accidental meeting in the end – Pepper walks into the Avengers' 'common floor' to find the open bottle of wine JARVIS said was here, and finds Lieutenant Hill standing in the middle of a specifications projection of a Quinjet. The furniture has been pushed back around the edges of the room to make space for the Lieutenant to move about without bumping her shins on something.
"Miss Potts."
"Lieutenant Hill." Pepper blinks. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone – JARVIS didn't say you were here."
"I told him not to." The statement is blunt and surprising at first, before Pepper remembers the backdoor which S.H.I.E.L.D. has into JARVIS that Tony – much to his dismay and grumpines - can't seem to find. "I didn't realise there'd be anyone around at this time of day."
"Oh, I only just got in from a meeting downtown, and I wanted a glass of wine..." Pepper trails off as she notices that Lieutenant Hill is barefoot, and scrunching her toes into the plush carpet.
The toes stop scrunching, and the younger woman looks studiously bland.
Pepper keeps a polite expression on her face and searches for some small talk. "Would you like a glass of Pinot Noir or are you on duty?"
"Water is fine." Hill said. "If you're hungry, there are leftovers from lunch in the fridge. Banner ordered more than we could eat."
"Oh, I'm meeting Tony for dinner. He's coming from Brussels..." Pepper pauses as she realises just how much food there is in the fridge. Then she turns. "Bruce ordered lunch?"
Hill shrugs slightly. In a less-controlled woman, it would be a squirm. "I guess he was feeling extravagant."
Pepper gives her a look that's cowed CEOs and CFOs, but the Lieutenant is made of stronger stuff. She just arches a brow, querying and innocent.
"Tony calls it 'Operation Feed Hill,'" Pepper says after a moment. "He mentioned that the Black Widow and Hawkeye first started it among the Avengers. Is it a S.H.I.E.L.D. thing?"
Hill exhales. "It was originally a joke by Phil. He and Clint told Natasha that it was her responsibility to make sure I was fed well and looking after myself – that it was part of the reciprocal agreement between S.H.I.E.L.D. handlers and their field agents, so it wasn't like the Red Room. The field agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. managed their handlers – making sure they were well-fed and healthy, just as their handlers managed them in the field."
Pepper takes out the Pinot Noir and reaches up to get a glass – and to hide her smile.
"At that stage, we were still working on Natasha's triggers, and since bossing me around seemed to relieve some of the pressure on her, I allowed it."
"And it's become habit."
"I was thinking 'collusion', actually." It's not a smile – it's not even a hint of a smile. It's the faintest softening that hints at amusement. "But it's harmless – mostly – and it keeps them from kicking the traces too hard."
Nick waits to check in on Maria.
Partly because he doesn't care to have her know that he's hovering. Partly because he doesn't care to share her time with whoever else has decided to descend during 'visiting hours'. Partly because he wants to double check with the surgeon about the recovery time.
Tim Chu insists that the recovery time for four broken ribs and a collapsed lung will be at least six weeks - preferably eight, leaving Nick in a bad mood.
Fortunately, the head of infirmary knows better than to forbid him to check in on his agents.
Maria's sitting back on the pillows when he goes in, looking bemusedly at a basket - big and wicker with a scarlet kerchief that has a decidedly Slavic look. It might have come straight out of a woodland fairytale.
"My, what a big basket you have there, grandmamma."
"Funny, sir." She indicates the open basket top. "Is it just me, or is one of these things not like the other ones?"
He glances in and his eyebrows rise.
A packet of Greek biscuits – kourabiedes. Romanoff, no doubt, who's just come back from a mission in Athens. Ice-cream packed in dry ice – Barton's foresight. The egg custard tarts are likely from Banner, and the thought of the Hulk in Chinatown is enough to make Nick want to grind his teeth. The French champagne that costs more than Maria makes in a month might as well have Stark's signature on the bottle. And an airtight Tupperware container has what looks like soup in – probably chicken, certainly Rogers' cooking – and it's still warm.
The apple is not from Earth.
Nick wouldn't swear to it glowing, but something about it casts a slight pall on the other gifts.
"I doubt it's one of those apples," Maria notes.
Nick agrees. "They'd never let one of those off Asgard." He looks at her, his too-young, too-controlled deputy with a stubborn streak and a steely will. And finds himself amused by the care package and what it denotes. "You realise there's only one way to be sure?"
Nearly everyone is a little surprised when Maria is out of the infirmary in two weeks - although no-one is surprised that she's back on the job in another two.
Nearly.
fin