December 2, 2014
She doesn't call.
Not that he'd really expected her to. By this point, he likes to think that he knows Maria pretty well and he knows he'd sent her into a panic. Well, panic was a bit dramatic, but it doesn't take a genius to know that he'd pushed against her boundaries.
It was a careful and calculated move he'd been thinking about for months. Hell, he'd been thinking about her for months, about the cold, standoffish agent he'd met on the helicarrier and the softer, warmer woman underneath. He isn't entirely sure why she'd deemed him worthy to see below that layer of ice, but he's vowed to himself more times than he can count not to sully that.
And that includes pushing too hard.
He can't help himself, in some respects. He's always been a little reckless, always been ready to push the envelope and jump into things he thinks may not bode well for him. But he's also learned that sometimes those are risks that are necessary, both for himself and for others. Plus, he'd pulled off a one-man-mission behind enemy lines to save Bucky. There's no way wooing Maria could be anywhere near that hard.
Then again, he thinks, as he faces her massive office doors, at least with the Nazis he'd known what he was in for.
Here, there are a lot of unknowns. He knows that she's probably already come up with a couple dozen good reasons why she shouldn't do this advent calendar with him. She probably has completely logical reasons for why things won't work out between them. He's not wholly sure he can combat all of that.
What he does have on his side is his knowledge of her. He knows her radio silence isn't meant to be rude or deliberate. He knows, now, that she's not cold enough to just cut communication and he knows he's put her on edge. A scared rabbit, though she'd kill him for the metaphor. He's taking a chance even being here and he hadn't needed the stern, dry look from Henry to put two and two together.
And yet.
He sucks in a deep breath and knocks.
Her voice rings out hard and clear and definitely irritated. He grins despite himself as he pushes the door open and finds her buried in paperwork. Some things, he thought, never changed.
She looks up as he takes a seat in front of her desk. His stomach warms at her involuntary smile, even as he sees the way she reflexively straightens her files. She's nervous, and while he'd normally think that a bit strange, he can't help but think maybe this time it works in his favour.
Maria is only ever nervous when she cares.
"Steve."
"Maria."
"What are you doing here?"
There are a million answers. All of them good, some of them snarky.
"I'm here for you."
The surprise flits through her eyes, along with a healthy dose of mistrust, just before her gaze drops back to her desk. And there, he thinks, is the real ticket. There, he thinks, is the real reason she hadn't called him, despite the fact that he had put the ball firmly in her court. It hurts to see, of course, because the idea that Maria doesn't see herself as worthy tears him up inside. And he's known for a while, despite the fact that he's pretty sure it's something she keeps reigned in. Except, she'd shown up in his hospital room concerned she'd made the wrong decision; concerned he blamed her for it.
For all of her admirable female independence, Maria Hill needs to be wooed.
And he's terrified to do it. He's put the cogs in motion and it's on him now, but he's so, so scared. Maria means so much to him, has come to mean so much to him, and he knows that doing this, pushing her, wooing her, could end in catastrophic explosions that will make the Valkyrie and the Chitauri invasion look like training games.
He is terrified.
He also thinks she is and will be so totally worth it.
"Steve-"
"There's a great hot chocolate place fifteen minutes from here," he says, bowling over her. She glares. He ignores it. "They're actually famous for their gelato, but I've always wanted to try their hot chocolate."
"You don't need me for that."
Since she's not playing around the bush, he doesn't either. He leans forward, waits until she locks her eyes on his again. "No. But I'd like you to come with me."
The simple sentence has its desired effect. She glances away again and he's pretty sure he's imagining the blush that stains her cheeks.
"Just hot chocolate," he says quietly.
"Like you gave me just a candy cane yesterday?"
His lips twitch. "Touché, Lieutenant."
And if she says no he will honour that, he tells himself. He will leave her to her paperwork and walk away. But then he sees her suck in a deep breath and square her shoulders.
"Just hot chocolate."
It's a tentative answer at best, but the grin that spreads across his face is not. She's surprisingly shy as he helps her with her coat – something he's done a million times and she's stopped arguing about. They don't touch as they head through Stark's halls, not even on the elevator where they stand silently in opposite corners. But once they hit the street he reaches for her. In part, he can't help it. In part, he just wants to touch her.
He always wants to touch her.
He does so again once they're in the cab, reaching for her hand and cradling it between his.
"Hey," he says, waits for her eyes to meet his. She's trying for an impenetrable mask, but unfortunately for her he's way past that.
"It's just me," he reminds her quietly. "Just Steve."
Her shoulders slump and her hand tightens in his.
"Isn't that the problem?"
"Not really," he argues. "We've done this before and no one's died."
"Never like this," she points out quietly. "Never… Never with intent."
"You're scared."
She doesn't jump. Her face barely changes. "Aren't you?"
"Yes." Because lying to her has never worked in his favour and he is so, so bad at it.
"Then why?"
He snorts, because the answer is more than a little bit cliché. Then again, he is Captain America. "Because life's too short to let people go about their lives without knowing they're important."
She watches him for a moment, and he doesn't think she realizes how much of a tell that is. He doesn't think she realizes that he can see the fear blaze through her, that he can see the courage it takes for her to straighten her shoulders.
"What if what you want breaks us?"
His heart thrills. He's been waiting months for this conversation. "What if it doesn't? What if it hasn't?"
Because it would be just like Maria to pretend that everything between them is as it was before. It would be just like her to think that things between them haven't grown a whole new layer, that the way she curls into him during a movie or the way he seeks her out when he's feeling particularly unsettled doesn't mean a damn thing. It would be just like her not to want the humanity of a connection with another person, wouldn't want the weakness.
Even if they both know that's a bald-faced lie.
"Is that why you didn't call?" he asks.
Her eyes dart away and his stomach flips. Nail on the head, he thinks even as she shrugs.
"The morning makes things look different," she says quietly.
He sighs, reaches over so he has both hands in his. "Look, this is terrifying for me too, okay? Because you mean so much to me, Maria, and if this crashes and burns…"
He can't finish that statement. He won't. Because it will not crash and burn, he promises himself. It's not a promise he will make out loud to her, not one he will voice but dammit, he has lost too much to lose her too.
"But you want to try."
"Of course I want to try," he tells her fiercely.
She reaches up, presses her palm against his cheek. He can see by the flicker of surprise it had been more than a little impulsive. He's coming to really like impulsive Maria. "Steve. I'm not worth this."
He releases one of her hands to wrap the other gently around the nape of her neck. "Of course you are. Maria – of course you are."
She lets his hand bring her head closer, lets his forehead press against hers. Her eyes flutter closed, her fingers curling against his cheek. "You're the only one who thinks so."
He is not, not by a long shot and it hurts so much that she believes it. He threads his hand into her hair and tilts her chin, holds her there and makes his intent obvious. His breath catches when she doesn't move away, when her eyes open for a moment.
"I'm not," he says as his mouth brushes against hers. She doesn't move away but he hears her breath hitch in her chest. Her hand is tight in his, the only sign of the turmoil she's made so obvious to him. He doesn't want to push, not really, but God, she's here and she's close, and he savours having her so close for one more beat before he changes the angle and brushes his mouth against her cheek instead.
"I need you to promise me you'll try," he says into her temple instead. He hears her breathe, slow and deep.
"You don't know what you're getting into," she tells him, like a last warning. "You don't know what you're setting yourself up for."
His chuckle is low and just a bit dark. He feels the shiver drill down her spine. "But I know what I want," he whispers into her ear, infuses it with just a bit of determination, a bit of steel. "And I want you."
There's another shiver, another tremble and her hand leaves his to clench in the sleeve of his coat. "Okay," she whispers.
He presses his forehead against hers again, can't stop himself given the emotions that are swirling through him. There are so many promises on the tip of his tongue, promises to make it worth it, promises not to break her, but he doesn't say any of it. Instead he tugs her as close as he can get her until the cab pulls to a stop. He gets out first, reluctantly, and holds out his hand. When she takes it, when she lets him help her out of the cab and onto the street, he finds his breath coming faster as he looks down at her.
She offers him a smile that shakes around the edges. "I believe you promised me hot chocolate."
His smile doesn't shake at all.
