Okay, so I got some really adorable reviews for the first part of this fic, and even though it was supposed to be a (short!) one-shot, I enjoyed writing it so much I think it's going to continue.
This will be Maria carrying out her evil scheme to get her job back. Just a reminder of a basic version of the fabulous plan:
1. Apologise to Coulson (complete)
2. Go to Stark tower and apologise to the Avengers.
3. Deflect any and all concerned looks from Natasha and snarky comments from Stark.
4. Actually apologise to Barton, for slapping him and yelling at him when it was mostly uncalled for. Then yell at him and tase him for being a dramatic asshole and cutting the feed to the Director's office.
5. Go down to Training Room C and destroy a couple of training dummies.
6. Wait till most of the Internal Security Operatives are in work and threaten them into stopping any embarrassing videos circulating S.H.I.E.L.D.
7. March to the Director's office, hunt down the resignation letter, tear it into tiny little pieces and burn the pieces. Then wait till Fury shows up and inform him that I am taking my job back and that there will be some changes to my schedule.
I'd also like to eternally thank whatever gods there might be out there for my favourite beta ever, run-robin-run. Her stories are legendary, her wit is as sharp as a freaking razor, and she'll stay up with me until 4am discussing whether it's feasible for Tony to build Bucky an arm that coverts into a rocket launcher...yeah that totally didn't happen...So please, go read her stories, I think she's only got one up at the moment but it'll break your heart, it's the saddest and cutest thing. Also help me bully her into writing a follow on but ssh don't tell.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or Clintasha would be canon and there would be a lot more angsting and talks about how everyone had a shit father!
Warnings: Quite a lot of swearing, weird ass agent-i-ness, French
Waking up and going to the cafeteria for my morning coffee has never felt so good. Seriously, I don't think the junior agents have ever scuttled out of my way so fast in my entire time at S.H.I.E.L.D, which is saying something considering who I am and what I do to those that upset me on a daily basis. I didn't even have to wait in line, I simply walked into the cafeteria and the sea of meandering agents parted before me as I strode to the front of the queue, picked up my coffee from a cafeteria girl who was quite literally quaking in her boots and then stalked out again. Their terrified shaking and gulping as they scrambled out of my way was extremely good for my ego.
Which really needs inflating, considering the beating I'm sure it's about to get at the hands of the Avengers.
Sighing, I raise my hand and place it on the scanner at the entrance to the elevator for Avengers Tower. Why I thought this was a good idea last night I have no idea, but I asked the Avengers to put off their busy schedules to meet with me so I have to at least show up. At least, that's what I'm telling myself, otherwise I'm sure I would've run off screaming like a hysterical banshee (or Coulson when he finds a spider in the shower) by now.
"Welcome Agent Hill. Or perhaps you would prefer Miss Hill?" Jarvis' British voice rings out from the ceiling. Thankfully, I've heard it enough times not to jump, never mind the fact that disembodied voices around the heli-carrier is pretty much the norm with so many spies that have penchants for sneaking up on people around. Someone made it one of the initiation games for the recruits to sneak up on me and make me jump, and then get away alive…no-one has managed it yet. No-one.
"Agent Hill will suffice Jarvis." My hands clench into fists and I have to force them to relax, thinking of how much I want that title back. Agent is my title, my life's work you could say, it's a damn large part of what defines me. And I'm feeling its current absence like the loss of a particularly important limb. "At least I hope so."
"Thank you Agent Hill." Stark's precious AI replies calmly, "And may I wish you luck with your upcoming meeting?"
"Thanks Jarvis." I respond, my voice carefully measured to keep out any sound of nerves. Stepping into the elevator, I have a rather worrying thought as I rise through the tower. "…If they try to attack me, do you have protocols to stop them?" I know it's a slightly (okay very) irrational fear that the Avengers, who are a serious force for good, will attack me over losing my temper, but the fear is still there.
"If by 'them' you mean the team known as the Avengers then yes, Agent Hill, I do."
"Even if it's Stark doing the attacking?"
"Especially then." Jarvis quips, a hint of pride at his own wit colouring his robotic voice.
A smirk finds its way onto my lips; I don't think there's a person on this planet that doesn't find Jarvis' unexpected sarcasm amusing. But it fades even more quickly than usual as I steel myself to actually apologise to the Avengers of all people. Well, I say people. A frozen supersolider from WWII, a Norse God from another Realm, an egomaniacal billionaire in a metal suit, a world class ex-Russian assassin, a man with extreme anger issues and the Hulk, don't really count as people per se. At least, not to most people, but then again who am I to judge normalcy?
But, however much I try to make fun of them doesn't change the fact that they are a down right terrifying group of people that I'm preparing to grovel before. To be honest, they could probably decide to execute me on a whim and the only downsides for them would be a little extra paperwork and a pissed off Agent Coulson. Actually, a pissed off Agent Coulson is something I'm not sure I would even wish on my worst enemy… except perhaps paperwork itself.
The elevator slows to a stop and pulling myself from my nervous rambling thoughts I take a deep breath and straighten my spine as the doors open, my face assembling into its usual imperious expression.
I stride purposefully into the main Avengers living room, doing my best to hide any and all nerves with false bravado. 'I'm Maria goddamn Hill', I think to myself, 'I can do this.' "Avengers." I greet them, eyes scanning the room.
Barton hangs upside down from a sofa, blond hair brushing the floor, and Natasha is sat next to him with her usual poise and grace. Flickers of slight surprise flash through both their eyes, which I can only detect after working with them for over 8 years, before Barton sighs and reluctantly hands fifteen what-looks-like-Swiss-Francs to his partner, who winks at me before it disappears to somewhere on her person. Some things never change. Steve looks up from his famously stunning sketchpad, a smile so pleased to see me appearing on his face that it's almost painful to look at, it's so freaking nice, and Bruce pulls his head out of his formulas long enough to look at me like an ostrich pulling its head from the sand. My arrival cut Thor off in the middle of him booming "NO MEASLY GREEN SHELL SHALL DEFEAT THE SON OF ODIN!", so I assume Stark was teaching him about the wonders of Mario Kart before they both trudge a little sheepishly into the main room. I wonder how many games of Mario Kart it'll take before the Avengers collapse into a full-out internal war. It's strange to be hoping that I will actually be around to see it, although I'm sure dealing with the fallout will be an absolute nightmare.
Hopefully I can just delegate it to Coulson, then maybe he'll actually regret helping to reinstate me into my position as his technical boss in the S.H.I.E.L.D hierarchy. The evil part of me that is not busy frantically analyzing the Avengers is cackling simply at the thought of the look on Phil's face.
The slightly uncomfortable growing silence is broken when Pepper , bless her, hurries into the room looking very stressed out. "Tony," she orders, her gaze zeroing in on her boss/boyfriend with laser precision. I can always appreciate laser precision in a fellow woman, even it's not with a real laser. "I really need you to- Maria!" she exclaims as she notices me stood slightly awkwardly near the entrance of the room, not really sure how to proceed. "Come in, come in! How are you? Are you okay? Do you want a drink?"
"Good, yes, and no, thank you Pepper. Hopefully I shouldn't be here for too long, I don't want to be in your hair."
"Nonsense, you're always welcome here." Pepper smiles warmly, looking like she wants to give me a friendly hug but knowing better. She was there the last time I drop-kicked a person out of a quinjet for hugging me without express and explicit permission. Just a warning.
Tony wanders over, slinging an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "Wow slow down there Pep, we don't want everyone having access to my tower. Especially evil ex-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D who come bearing paperwork."
"She'll come bearing your death warrant the way this week is going if you're not careful Stark." Barton warns from the couch, only half joking.
I smile sweetly at Stark, far too sweetly to be sincere, just to watch him flinch. Not the way to go about apologising, but I can't resist, it's a deeply ingrained habit.
"So Maria, why are you here? Not with Tony's actual death warrant I hope." Steve smiles blindingly from behind his sketchbook, patriotism radiating from every pore on his golden skin. He's so damn perfect sometimes I want to vomit.
"Well…" I begin, shooting a steely glare at a concerned-looking Natasha. Looks like steps 2 and 3 will have to be carried out simultaneously. Dammit you insufferable Russian red-head, stop making swallowing my huge amount of pride harder than it already is. "I want to, that is, it is the convention in normal society to apologise for being socially inadequate in terms of relations and communications in the workplace, especially taking out the result of the frustration this may have resulted in on uninvolved parties verbally in an extreme and profanity-laden manner. Therefore…um…I'm sorry?"
"It's fine." Bruce says, a small smile playing at his lips.
I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, not really. I lost my temper and it was inexcusable. It wasn't your fault-"
"Yes it was." Steve asserts. "We were the ones fighting and ignoring you."
"I'm used to that, don't worry. I still shouldn't-"
"Aye, 'tis fine Lady Hill. Lady Widow has already explained the reasons behind your anger." Thor, unusually not shouting his head off, and also looking quite contrite pipes up, his goldilocks blond hair swinging about his shoulders.
I whip round, eyes slitted in Natasha's direction. She simply shrugs. "What? Female solidarity. I'm doing you a favour, it's obvious you hate apologising and would much rather be on your way to bust Fury's balls."
Stark's eyes light up. "Ooh, really? Can we watch, I'll make popcorn!"
"Tony." Pepper warns, lightly elbowing him in the side, but it doesn't stop him dancing around and cackling to himself. Obviously he enjoys the thought that Fury is going to get what's coming to him. He's definitely not the only one judging by the secretly pleased looks on the faces of the other Avengers. Fury's a great leader, not a good man. He goes for inspiring fear in the superheroes, knowing he'll never get loyalty, which is usually a damn good idea, but if a non-lethal, very scary threat is coming his way, and will affect him alone (à la moi), well, none of them are going to stop me.
"I'm supposed to be giving a heartfelt apology here!" I snap, frustrated. These people are so damn good, can't they let anyone of us fallible normal people just apologise?
"You don't need to." Barton pipes up from his still upside down position on the sofa. "We understand. We all nearly kill each other at least once a week, and you lasted nearly six months without snapping. Which reminds me Stark…" Clint makes a 'gimme' gesture and the billionaire sighs, pulling out his wallet and tossing the archer twenty dollars. "Thank you!"
"Well I'm sorry for swearing, Steve," I say rapidly, just like a child, hopefully too fast to be interrupted again, "and Pepper I'm sorry for going all out angry assassin on you because you're a civvie and that's unacceptable."
"How much did that apology hurt your pride Hill?" Stark teases mercilessly from behind Pepper.
"Not as much as it'll hurt when I've painted all of your suits, hero or otherwise, with the words 'Hill's Bitch'. And then turned Jarvis female. And shaved off your goatee in your sleep."
"So…" Stark smirks, "that apology hurt a lot then, if you'd have to carry out all those threats just to get me to hurt the same as you do."
I only glare at him until his smile fades and he looks away. Not my best moment, but hey, I'm still stressy, I can have the occasional lax day. Perhaps scaring everyone, even superheroes, with my glares alone can be added to my list of 'superpowers', which also includes my mastery of paperwork and my ability to drink enough coffee to kill twenty men in one sitting.
I quickly grab my tablet and tick off steps 2 and 3 from my plan. No sense not being efficient, it is what brings so many supervillains down. World domination might not be in my plans, for today at least, but (re)conquering S.H.I.E.L.D is. Surely that should class as at least slightly villainous.
"What did you just do?" Natasha asks suspiciously, but from the minute twinkle in her green eyes she knows what a perfect opportunity she is handing me.
"Signed Stark's death warrant." I reply, no hint of a lie to be found anywhere on my person. The man behind the Iron Man suit visibly gulps. I turn to Barton, who is still, infuriatingly, upside down. "Barton, walk with me. Now."
He sighs, rolls his blue eyes as if I'm the most annoying person in the world, and then rolls, heels over head, until he is stood up, before turning to face me with a bow and a raised eyebrow.
I link my arm through his and, almost pulling him off his feet, drag him into the elevator. As the doors close, and Barton rubs his head and pouts from where I 'accidentally' let his head ram into the wall, the last things I hear from the Avengers is a nervous sounding Stark asking "Was that really my death warrant?", and, slightly more surprisingly, Bruce muttering "Ten bucks says Barton doesn't come back alive,", which sends Natasha cackling.
"So Maria," asks Barton, wiggling his eyebrows in a faux suggestive manner, "why did you want to see me, alone?"
Oh god, now is the time to really swallow my pride. This hurts more than apologising to the Avengers as a whole, because, while I might not like Stark, or be particularly positively inclined towards the others, I don't have the ongoing rivalry/hatred/friendship with them that I do with Hawkeye. We very, very rarely say anything remotely nice to each other, and now, I need to apologise to the bastard? Uh, no thanks.
"I need to say sorry to you for…slapping you and yelling at you when it was mostly uncalled for." I manage to force out through my teeth.
Barton blinks in slight surprise. "Well, I have to say, I wasn't expecting that. But again, apology accepted, if I'd know what a bad day you were having yesterday I probably wouldn't have been such a little shit about my paperwork. Probably."
"Good," I grin, "glad to get that out of the way. Now, how dare you cut my camera feed to the Director's office you over-dramatic asshole?! Now I'm not going to get away with having cameras in there anymore, you bastard, you're always ruining my damnable plans." As the lift comes to a halt and I finish my rant, I whip out my taser and fire the prongs into Barton's leg, letting him have a full blast of electricity. And again. And again. Okay, so maybe I'm taking revenge for a whole lot of past crimes against me, but whatever, he'll live.
Sashaying past a lobby of gawping Stark Industries employees, I retract my taser and, leaving Barton still juddering in the elevator, I take my leave. Straddling my favourite motorcycle, I take out my tablet, tick off step 4, put it away and with a rev of my engines I head back to the New York ground base. And damn am I on a role today.
(**I*I**)
Punch, kick, punch, duck, twist, kick, jump, punch, step back, leap in, kick, roll, swivel, drop, and JUMP SKY HIGH IN THE AIR when an unholy noise straight from hell rings out piercingly loud through the training hall.
I clutch at my chest, heart pounding both from the intensity of my dramatic fight (against a punching bag) and from the pure shock caused by the loudest alarm on the planet. I set it because I really need to be in the Monitoring room between the shifts of the Internal Security Operatives for maximum intimidation factor, and I really don't want to be late. The next change over will mean the arrival of the Operatives who were watching the cameras yesterday when I had my little breakdown (well, I say little…), and the pure fear of what I will do to them if they release that footage will wear off early into their first shift today, and so I'm thinking they'll need a reminder of what I do to people that cross me.
As you may have gathered, no-one crosses me.
I shower the results of my most intense workout in a good long while off my skin at military speed, though definitely not at military temperature, dry my hair and wrap it up into a ponytail. Climbing back into my catsuit I carefully hook my tablet back onto my belt, pull on my shoes and trek back across Training Hall C, dodging an overenthusiastic throwing star as I go.
Marching down the hallway is like I'm Moses parting the Red Sea, if the Red Sea was a crowd of terrified S.H.I.E.L.D agents actually trampling each other and throwing themselves through side doors just to get out of my way. Yeah okay so maybe I'm glaring with enough heat to set metal alight and my hands are resting on the butts of my handguns, but I can't resist, it's just too tempting. Who ever said power corrupts was damn right, it's exhilarating.
I arrive at the Monitoring room unnoticed, slipping through the shadows behind the huge computer bank and watching the 12 current ISO's (Internal Security Operatives) packing up to leave. I count the amount of Styrofoam coffee cups (37) and grin. They'll never survive a single shift without coffee, my planned threats are panning out perfectly.
Still, I sneak out my tablet and, hiding any light it might produce, make a note to increase the spatial awareness of all my ISOs on all S.H.I.E.L.D bases worldwide. If I were here with murderous intentions I could've killed all 12 of them by now without even trying. Maybe some surprise 'kidnappings' every once in a while will help them out.
They all file out and, like clockwork, their replacements file in. Nearly all of them are checking the shadows shiftily, showing every sign of suspicious nerves, and I'm glad for my years of training out in the field that keep me perfectly hidden. They sit at their desks in silence for a few minutes, eyes darting around the room and small beads of sweat rolling down some foreheads. It's nice to know they remember me from what happened last time they leaked some footage of me on a mission 'seducing' a target.
I say 'seducing', but to be honest I lost it half-way through the whole fluttering-eyelashes and coy smiles act and started laughing nearly hysterically, so I was forced to back out of the mission and let someone else step in. To be fair though, the guy was such an arsehole that his pickup line was 'Do you work on a chicken farm? 'Cuz you sure know how to raise a cock!', so he should have probably been glad he left that encounter with any cock at all.
Finally, one of the ISOs speaks, nerves making her voice audibly quiver. "Do you think…can we…thatfootageisgoldandireallythinkweshouldreleaseit."
Another one stands up, obviously the ringleader of the group. Agent Malek I do believe from my prior research. Tall and fair with dark eyes and thin wire glasses perched on his nose, I know he's smart enough to be working in Intelligence but got transferred down here as punishment for disrespect to his superiors. "C'mon guys, let's do it. This footage is good enough to top the unofficial S.H.I.E.L.D top ten videos of all time, it might even beat the one of Coulson coming back from the dead! Don't you agree it's worth the risk, I mean really, what's Hill gonna do?"
"An excellent question Agent Malek, one I will be happy to answer." I glide out of the shadows and relish the way all of the agents jump, especially the formerly confident ringleader, and watch as they all turn very pale very rapidly as their eyes widen in shock and not a little fear. Brilliant, this should be easier than I had planned.
"A-Agent Hill." Malek stutters out, although he doesn't back away into the trembling crowd of his peers, which shows impressive bravery given the circumstances. Perhaps foolhardiness, but bravery too.
"So, it's nice to hear none of that footage has been released yet, isn't it ladies and gentlemen?" I sweep around the main desk area, fingers trailing carelessly over stacks of paperwork and keyboards alike, letting them all sweat before I turn my most piercing gaze back onto them. "Shall we discuss what exactly might happen if, say, any footage embarrassing to myself happens to begin to circulate the backstreets of S.H.I.E.L.D?"
"I have a feeling that you're going to tell us anyway." Malek murmurs, more resigned than cocky, and I feel a swell of pride for the calibre of agents S.H.I.E.L.D churns out on a regular basis. Maybe, after this little soirée is over, I'll find some subtle way to have him reinstated in Intelligence, because he definitely has the balls for it.
"Is that the same feeling that told you to question what I could really do to you all? Because so far, that feeling hasn't done you any favours." I snap authoritatively. "Now, is that footage going anywhere but into the hole of no return?"
"Yes ma'am." One agent trembles in a thick french accent. I send her a deadly look. "I mean no ma'am."
"Good." I smirk slightly, pleased with myself. "Because if it does become a smash hit, you will all be held personally responsible. And then, well…" I survey the room with one last sharp look, "the prejudiced withholding of your coffee supplies and several mountains worth of paperwork would be a punishment you would pray for."
"Understood." Malek nods once, looking resigned. "Jael, go to your computer and delete the footage. And make sure you do it properly."
I stand as imposingly as I can behind a young Mexican woman as with shaking hands she deletes any trace of the footage of my temper tantrum from S.H.I.E.L.D databases.
"Thank you." I say to the crowd of ISO's once the deed is complete, "And please, to save me the bother, next time you think of doing anything like this, especially involving me? Just don't."
With my point made I march out of the room, allowing myself a snort of laughter once I reach a deserted stretch of corridor. Good lord their faces, it's a good job they've all seen me kick some serious ass at their respective times at S.H.I.E.L.D monitoring the cameras or they would've called out my act immediately for the bullshit it was.
Still, I'm glad that that's out of the way, because with S.H.I.E.L.D's rumour mill this tale will be nothing more than another crazy myth about me that plagues any senior agent around here by tomorrow. By next week, no-one will believe a word of it and what happens when I lose my temper will be lost to legend.
A legend huh? Just the way I like to be thought of.
Bringing out my tablet for hopefully the penultimate time for this particular plan, I tick off stage 6 and reread step 7 with apprehension. This all suddenly seems like a really stupid idea, after how rudely I treated Fury yesterday night; he doesn't forgive, and he doesn't forget. And I'm planning to march into his office and demand things from him? Most would consider me completely suicidal for what I'm about to attempt.
Marching up to Fury's office I stare at the door nervously, hoping and praying to a god I don't believe in that The Spy himself isn't in there. But of course, since Barton cut my camera feeds, the bastard, I can't tell if Fury is in his office since the door is sound proof and there's no keyhole to peek through. The upsides to working with the most paranoid people on the planet are plenty, especially when they regularly save everyone's lives, but when you want to sneak around without being noticed it's a great big pain in the ass. The only thing for it is to barge right in, cross my fingers and hope for the best.
I have a personal theory about luck, something that my first Strategy Teacher at the S.H.I.E.L.D academy would chant at us over and over. 'Luck is for fools, if you need luck you haven't planned your course of action properly and you deserve whatever grisly fate is coming to you.' What a wonderful man. He would have a heart attack if he could see what I'm about to do.
I knock on the door and shove it open…only to breathe a giant sigh of relief. The room's empty of angry one-eyed S.H.I.E.L.D Directors; good, I can carry out most of my remaining scheme in peace.
I slide behind his desk, perching my ass neatly on the edge of his huge leather chair (seriously, the man has an obsession with leather, he's going to end up killing off the world's cow population if he doesn't reign it in soon), and start sifting through the small amount of paperwork on his desk (all of which had already been filled out and sorted by me…just saying).
The paperwork I find is useless. Strike Team Delta being pissy about some potential mission, been there seen that, Coulson broke his plane again, well it's not like that was unexpected, Latveria transfer of monarchy papers…c'mon, where is it? Resignation paper, resignation paper…goddamn it, it's not in the draws, it's not loose on the desk or in a file, it's not even under the desk or in the false bottom to the third draw down (who says the old ones aren't the best?), which means that it's either already been processed and I've lost my job already, or, perhaps even worse, Fury has it on his person.
"Looking for this?" asks an amused-but-trying-not-to-be voice from the doorway.
My head snaps up from where I was rootling around on the floor and I automatically scan the figure that I didn't even hear coming that's silhouetted in the doorway. Bald head: check. Leather coat: check. Eye patch: check. Steaming cup of coffee: check. My resignation letter held between two fingers like it's the scum of the earth: double check. Yep, it's Director Fury all right.
Well, this is awkward.
Instead of jumping to my feet like I was caught doing something I shouldn't have been, I simply straighten up in his chair and look him coolly in the eyes. You can get away with doing so many forbidden things simply by pretending that you have every right to be doing so. "Director Fury." I smile calmly, leaving off the cliché 'We meet again'. Just. Can't say I wasn't sorely tempted but now if ever is the time to be professional.
"Hill." He responds, completely blasé and giving absolutely nothing away as he stares down at me, taking a sip of his coffee as if nothing is wrong in the world. He is The Spy after all. "Get the fuck out of my chair."
"Yes sir." I jump up as gracefully as I can and we rotate around the desk until he is sat in his leather throne and I am stood before his desk, spine straight and head held high like a good little soldier.
He glares at me for a good long while before sighing. "What the hell makes you think you have any right to go rifling through my papers, I could have you court-martialled so fast your head wouldn't stop spinning." Fury growls, but there is no malice in his words. He seems…pleased is not the word, gratified perhaps, that he was right that I would return to my job. I wonder for a split second how much money he has placed on me returning to Deputy Director in the S.H.I.E.L.D betting pool, before dismissing the thought. A lot, obviously, given the smug tilt of his head and the jaunty lift of his jaw. I hate that I've been working for him long enough to notice these tiny indicators of his mood, it's truly sad.
"As a technicality, I'd be executed well before anyone ever got around to court-martialling me, considering that I officially don't work here anymore, making me a civilian at best and a criminal at worst. Sir."
Fury adeptly ignores the sarcasm littering my words and gives me a hard stare that brooks no nonsense as he flattens my now-crumpled resignation letter on the desk in front of him. "What do you want Hill. I can't have you rifling through my desk and you know it."
"Just this." I reach over his desk and snatch up that damned letter, glaring at it with enough fire to set it alight once it is back in my possession, before proceeding to rip it into smaller and smaller and smaller pieces until they begin to scatter like confetti under my nails. Then, with a vindictive smile worthy of the bitch that I am, I dump the remains of my resignation letter into Fury's coffee and watch it slowly turn into a sodden, pulpy mush.
Fury, despite his usually permanent bad temper, only raises an eyebrow. "Done?"
"If you haven't noticed, I'm taking my job back. I'd apologise for losing my temper, except that my explosion was extremely necessary to blow off some steam, and I'm certainly not sorry. I've discussed the situation with / threatened everyone within an inch of their life who was directly affected by the incident, and you're the only one left, so that's sorted."
Fury runs his tongue over his teeth as if he's only considering what I'm saying to disguise the tiny smile that has blossomed on his lips. "Welcome back Deputy Director Hill."
"And there's going to be some changes to my schedule." I declare, crossing my arms and cocking my hip. "For one, I'm having an off day once every three months with Coulson out in the field on a mission of my choosing." I assert sternly, face set in a no-nonsense mask even though I'm struggling not to laugh at Fury's disgruntled expression regarding what I just did to his coffee. He keeps shooting the occasional horrified glances at the pulpy mess in his mug; he looks more upset than he did when the world was ending two Tuesdays ago.
"Pending world-ending situations that need your direct attention, permission granted. Anything else?"
"Yeah, off-load another 3am nuclear crisis and a Council meeting just past 5am ever again and I'll be forced to enact an unspeakably evil revenge the likes of which you have never suffered before." Fury smirks slightly, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands, and I narrow my eyes in warning. "I'm serious, I'll have Phil and Natasha and maybe even Barton help me out with it as well. Kapeesh?"
"Don't threaten me Agent Hill. And don't argue with me either. I am your superior once again and I don't think kindly of that kind of behaviour." Fury's smirk is gone, wiped off his face, and his single eye is hard and cold and forbearing. It is the Fury glare, a glare that sends agents young and old rushing to the bathroom or fainting on the floor, the glare that can, without a single word being spoken, shut up all of the Avengers, including Stark, which I have to admit is a feat in itself. Thor has compared it to the Allfather's glare, only scarier.
I blink, but don't flinch. I force a tiny, unaffected smile onto my face, just lifting one corner of my mouth ever so slightly to give the appearance of being unaffected by his infamous glare, despite the fact I seriously want to fidgit and look away. Even if Director Fury hates your guts, he is always, grudgingly, impressed by those strong enough to stand against him. And since that's in my job description…
"Actually sir, whilst I may not technically be allowed to threaten you, I am perfectly within my rights as your Deputy Director to argue with you however much I please to. It's my job to argue with you. Literally, it says in my contract that 'the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D must be ready and willing at all times to state contrary opinions to those of the Director in order to provide contrasting views', and since me arguing with you most likely contrasts with your view that no-one is allowed to argue with you and live, I'm simply doing my job, hence I have my job again and am already back in full swing."
He stares at me for what must be a full minute, the seconds ticking by with agonising slowness under the heat of his glare. I stare back, slightly trembling hands clasped behind my back, repeating the same lines to myself over and over 'Even breathing, don't twitch, don't blink, don't look away, back straight, head high, even breathing, don't twitch, don't blink…"
Fury sighs, not in defeat but in acceptance that nothing in our tumultuous relationship of harsh words and crossed swords will change, that I won't let him gain any advantage over me despite that little temper tantrum that exploded out of me yesterday.
"Don't you have work to be doing Agent Hill?" he grouches, finally turning off the glare.
I hold back a sigh of relief and give him a brisk nod. "Yes sir." Spinning towards the door, I pause mid-step at the sound of Fury awkwardly clearing his throat. I turn back around slowly, hands on hips and eyebrows raised. "Anything else sir?"
Fury has a face like thunder and looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the entire Nine Realms but here. "It's good to have you back…Maria."
I jolt in surprise, but then smile, pleased. "Thank you Director Fury. It's nice to be appreciated for a change."
"Now get the hell of my office Agent Hill. I expect all of yesterday's and today's paperwork turned in on time or there will be consequences. Severe consequences. I expect you to act like you're walking on eggshells for the next month, and I do not want any traumatized agents, assholes or otherwise, turning up terrified outside my office with your name on their lips."
Business as usual then. "Yes sir."
Needless to say, by the end of the next week, I was left wondering why I ever wanted my job back at all.
Thank you for reading and please, please review for me!
This was a little shorter than the last one, only 12 word pages, but I sincerely hope you enjoyed it just as much!
Au revoir mes petits amis!
Please review!