NOTES: Day 6 of the 30 Day OTP challenge - 'wearing each other's clothes', I believe. I didn't make Steve wear anything of Maria's...this time.
The Shirt End Of The Stick
Maria wakes naked with the smell of cooking things in the air.
In constrast, the bedclothes smell of Steve as she burrows into them. And sex. Lots and lots of sex.
She rubs her cheek on the pillow for a moment, letting her body relax before she has to get up. Her stomach is feeling empty, and the siren scent of coffee is calling to her. SHIELD agents cannot live on sex alone – although it damn well seems to help. After weeks of slow recovery, careful physio, and frustrating restlessness, Maria feels...relaxed. Energised. Kind of euphoric.
Easing out of bed, she stares at the neatly-organised bedroom, at the pile of her clothes neatly folded up on the chair by the walk-in wardrobe, her shoes tucked underneath.
There was no folding of clothes last night. As unhurried as undressing was, Maria didn't particularly care where anything fell, and she's pretty sure Steve wasn't picking up after her then.
It's sweet in a typically Steve Rogers kind of way.
And domestic.
Maria pauses, her fingers resting on her panties – neatly folded. She can imagine Steve blushing as he handles her underwear, but telling himself it's just clothing. She can imagine him out in the kitchen now, cooking, making coffee, and doing it for two because he's not the kind of man to leave a woman to forage her own breakfast when he's making some for himself.
It's a little terrifying, actually.
She looks to the window, thinking of routes out of the Tower that don't involve going out the front door. It would involve the courage to hang over a hundred-fifty yard drop while gripping a balcony ledge with her fingertips, but right now even that seems less daunting than being in love with Steve Rogers.
This job burns you out, Coulson had said, back when she was just an agent, and he was her mentor. It helps to have something other than the job. A hobby. A relationship. Family.
You want me to take up knitting?
He hadn't either smiled or bridled at her disbelieving comment. I want you to have something other than this job that will take you through life.
She wonders what Phil would say about this relationship.
Somehow, she suspects it would be the faint, approving smile he gave her the first time she ignored the textbook and took a SHIELD operation into her own hands to get the job done. Sometimes the book needs to be thrown out the window.
It occurs to Maria that her mentors have always encouraged her to break out a little – possibly because she needs no encouragement to stick to the rules.
Don't be predictable.
She looks at her clothing, takes a deep breath, and decides what the hell.
The socks are a little big, but they're so soft against her feet. And the shirt hangs off her shoulders – and smells of Steve. It's kind of a turn-on. As she pushes open the door, Maria supposes she really does 'have it bad' as the saying goes.
She's also in really deep trouble.
Not one but six pairs of eyes turn to look at her from the kitchenette area where Steve is cooking. Jaws drop. Eyes widen. Stark chokes on his coffee.
Momentum keeps Maria walking into the room. Practise at playing it cool has her ignoring their reactions – from Thor's grin to Banner's sudden tension. She's faced terrorists and anarchists, businessmen and politicians; she beat the Council at their own game and faced Fury down when she thought he was wrong, then faced him again when it turned out she was wrong.
Breakfast with the Avengers she can do.
Even if she is at the disadvantage of being materially underdressed.
"Good morning."
"Lieutenant," Thor rumbles. "We apologise for the intrusion. Had we but known—"
"You would have come along to gawk anyway," Maria finishes for him. "At least, Stark would. And he'd have invited the rest of you to come and watch."
"If I'd known, I'd have worn a dirty t-shirt so I could snort coffee all over that," Stark retorts, dabbing at his shirt and tie, before a smirking gleam lights his eye. "Want another shirt for your collection, Hill?"
"Not yours."
She catches the edge of Steve's grin as he turns back to the stove and thinks he should have warned her. That he had no time, and that she certainly didn't have to walk out wearing only socks and panties under a shirt is Logic and she is not entertaining it right now.
"Coffee," Natasha says, setting a mug down as Maria slides onto one of the stools and is very glad she did up at least one button on the shirt.
"Toast?" Clint offers her the toast rack and flips her a butter knife.
Their frank acceptance of both the situation and her state of undress is reassuring in ways that Maria doesn't really want to think about at this moment.
"If this gets any more revoltingly domestic, I'm going to start screaming," mutters Stark. "Rogers, would you hurry up with the food? I didn't invite myself over for breakfast to sit at your table and ogle your girlfriend— Although the ogling is a nice start—"
"Do you want to eat the bacon or wear it, Stark?"
Stark tilts his head at her. "Jealous boy, isn't he?"
Banner clears his throat. "I...don't suppose you could go and put on some more clothes, Lieutenant?"
"I could."
His expression turns rueful when it becomes clear she's not going to.
It's no longer a matter of embarrassment; it's a matter of will. If Maria can face down the Avengers half-naked, she figures she can use this memory to face down just about anything the universe throws her in future.
Steve puts the plate of food down on the table – eggs, bacon, sausages – enough to feed an army. Which, Maria reflects as she watches the food go, is more or less what the Avengers are.
When he sits down next to her, his hand rests on her knee for a moment. "They invited themselves," he says, apologetic.
She lets her hand rest over his for a moment, but doesn't lean in for a kiss. "I know." Her smile seems to reassure him, and he starts on the food.
One by one, the others eat and leave, starting with Stark and ending with Clint and Natasha. Nothing more is said about her state of undress, and Maria wears Steve's shirt like she's in full formal uniform and dares them to say anything about them.
Stark does, because he's Stark. Of course, Maria gives back as good as she's got, because she's not going to sit meek and quiet and take what he's dishing out. At least the others don't mention it as they, one by one, eat their breakfasts, then carrying their plates over to the dishwasher and put them in before taking their leave.
"You've got them housebroken," Maria comments, leaning back against the cupboards after Clint and Natasha close the door behind them.
Steve glances up as he pushes the buttons to start the cycle. "If they want breakfast next time, they put their dishes away."
"And if I want breakfast next time?"
He slides his arms in through the open front of the shirt, and his lips brush past hers as his hands skim her waist. "You stay overnight."
"Is that the cheap rates?" Maria inquires, amused.
"Well call it a special deal."
The package on her desk is a surprise – although, once she reads the note that comes with it, it's what she probably should have expected. Stark is nothing if not provocative.
In case you ever change your mind, Lieutenant.
Maria arranges to have the shirt washed, ironed, folded and left on Stark's desk the next time she's in the tower. Keep your shirt on, and don't hold your breath, Stark.
fin