Chapter 9

Natasha closes her eyes in the confort of Maria's arms. She is attached to the woman like a monkey to a tree and she likes the feeling. She likes to feel the last of her fear fade away in the warmth of Maria. She feels safe there, in the scent of Maria's sweet skin, her nose pushed in brown hair behind an ear. It is so strange, how every part of her relaxes then, how she wants to drop everything and just reveal in those arms. She only felt that kind of trust with one person before, with Laura's motherly hugs, which Natasha learned to receive but never engaged. But now, with Maria, the comparaison is obvious. For one, it was Natasha who sought the contact for more, like her body needed to be surrounded by Maria. And that's the other thing, she feels her strength coming back to her but not only from the inside, from her ever unbreakable Black Widow counterpart, but from Maria too. She is feeding on Maria's affection to restore her energy.

Natasha has spent so much time at the Barton's she often saw something similar happening. She remembers seeing how each time Lila or Cooper were upset or crying they called out for hugs from Laura, Clint or even herself. In the quiet of the embrace they seemed able to recharge their battery somehow. She saw them becoming soft, relaxed, peaceful. Sometimes they would fall asleep on her. She didn't understand how their agitation could be fixed so easely in her arms when she wasn't doing anything except holding them clumsily as they cling on to her, but Laura told her it's all she had to do. Be there, hold them, and they will feel better. Natasha never understood this until now.

Her muscles keep releasing their tension more and more as she sinks in Maria's body more and more. She knows the woman is strong and she herself doesn't weight much, so she allows herself to it. Her grip on Maria's shoulder eases, she slides her left hand from her cheek and sneaks both arms under Maria's. A hug. Natasha is initiating a hug. Her hands come catching the black cotton shirt as she drops her temple on Maria's shoulder, her face still touching skin in the curve of her neck.

Her eyes are still closed when Maria adjusts. Soon her arms are surrounding Natasha, one around her shoulder drawing soothing patterns on her skull, the other around her arm and waist, keeping her close, grounded. Maria's head falls softly again Natasha's.

They stay in the quiet embrace for a while. Natasha doesn't count, it is like the outside world doesn't exist anymore. Even the Black Widow in her relent her watch for now. Because Maria is with her, Maria watches over her. As the time past, she doesn't remember anything, she only knows Maria's arms around her, Maria's scent, Maria's smooth skin against her. The way Maria's muscles contract just a little bit more and Natasha feels more secured, like the woman's strength allows her to be weak for a while. Maria will protect her if need be, she will keep an eye out for her. Natasha just feels it, the offer to just release everything and drift herself to sleep.

She never does that, never in her life has she allowed herself that weakness, falling asleep from exhaustion. If she is exhausted it means she is vulnerable and someone will take advantage of that. But not now. Now she has Maria. Now, her mind tells her as sleep spreads into her, now she has someone to schield her.

/

She wakes slowly. The first thing her brain registers is the scent. It is enough to keep her relaxed. Maria. Somehow along the way her subconscious has associated Maria to confort and safety. Natasha knows even before anything else comes back to her memory, she knows she is safe in this scent.

Then she realises fingers are stroking her lower head and neck in rubbing patterns, kneading with a steady pace and sending chills of decompression in every nerve of her body. With a content moan Natasha buries her face deeper in the skin.

Maria's soft chuckle vibrates under Natasha. She savours the relaxed demeanour of Maria still surrounding her, the way the strong woman can be easy, soft and caring, playful even, when they are alone together. The massage doesn't stop when Maria speaks lowly just above her ear.

'Hi'

Natasha smiles at that. She knows Maria can feel it on the skin of her neck.

'Hi'

She says back with her voice rough from sleep and deep relaxation. She drops a gratefull kiss in the curve of Maria's neck where her mouth currently lies, before pushing herself more into the embrace. Maria's arms immediatly tighten their hold, however soon the rubbing slows and stops. Natasha sighs with a playful whimper of protest, but she knows Maria is still a little worried about her.

'I'm okay now'

Maria's skin reacts at the murmur against her neck, sending goosebumps everywhere. Natasha kisses the patch of skin there and nips it just a little with her teeth. The statement and the gesture seem enough to reassure her guardian.

Moving her head off of it's cushion, Natasha caresses Maria's throat with her nose.

'Thank you' she breathes in Maria's ear. She can feel the shiver in Maria's body as Maria's hands grip a little harder into her. The way her body reacts to Natasha is entrancing. Natasha wants more of it. She brings her mouth to the earlobe and captures it with her lips, sucking slowly. Maria's surprised intake of breath is delightful. The way she tenses and flexes her fingers in Natasha ignites heat in Natasha's veins. She is fully awake now.

Natasha's hand move lower on Maria's back until her fingertips find smooth skin between short and shirt. She slides her hand under the tank top. Maria's head turns to her, her nose finding Natasha's temple as Natasha releases the ear.

'Nat...'

The deep voice sends chills in Natasha's core. It is a warning, a question. As an answer Natasha brushes the side of their faces until they come face to face. Their eyes lock in the narrow tunnel with barely no light. They are flushed against each other, Natasha feels Maria's body humming under her, its anticipation, its demand. Its arrousal. She can see it in Maria's gaze, intense blue eyes searching her. The woman is gorgeous, with her slightly sweaty skin and locks of hair here and there. Her face shows her concern and her yearning so much Natasha stops breathing. She is on fire now, her whole body humming for Maria. She licks her lips and sees the hunger past in blue eyes as they watch her tongue. Maria's breath is shallow, her fingers dig in Natasha's flesh as the passion build fast between them. They stare at each other before Natasha cannot take it anymore, this want consuming her. She releases a bestial grunt and she dives down, captures Maria'smouth. It is not slow, it is not sweet, it is a bruising kiss, a moisture of Natasha's lips sucking on Maria's, eating out her mouth. She wants more, so much more. Already her hand flyes to Maria's face, locked on her jaw, as her body presses against her. Her skin-like uniform is both a blessing and a curse, for she can almost feel Maria's heat against her but still is out of reach. Her lower belly itches, wanting to feel not only curves, beautiful, wonderful curves, but to feel skin, smooth, hot, tasty skin. Natasha is wild and animal as she moves her other hand higher under the shirt, seeking for flesh. Maria's strong back muscles sing under her touch. When Natasha feels Maria's tongue popping out to join their battle of lips, she doesn't know which of them release the moan that rings out in the tunnel. Natasha shivers with want, she feels hot, each nerve of her skin, of her mouth is so much sensitive, when Maria's hands settle on her bottom and squeeze, the amazing sensation sents bolts in her brain fonctions. She knows the whimper comes from her now, and Maria takes advantage of the sound to push her delicious tongue further, in Natasha's sucking mouth, mapping out the place, licking every curve of Natasha's tongue. The taste of Maria is addictive. She wants more. As if sensing her needs, the arms that were previously holding her in a tender embrace are now holding her harder, tense muscles pushing her arse into Maria, bringing their covered core closer under their clothes...

'Seriously Tash ?!'

Clint's voice tries to be amused and scoldish but there is clearly relief in his voice.

Shit, Natasha totally forgot about him.

To her defence, she could say that the Hawkeye is almost as silent as the Black Widow herself, and also she is still a little emotional right now. The more reasons why she hasn't seen him coming. She sighs. That's not it. She is the Black Widow, she is the perfect spy, educated to perfection and self analysation. She immediatly knows the true reason of her inattention and she admits it to herself, because it is important to know oneself in battle, and to point out how to correct one's flaws to become the perfect tool. This programming is deeply engraved in her survival set.

She sighs, because even if they are at SHIELD's facility, even if she is with the Hard Ass Deputy Director and the Hawkeye, her partner best friend, a situation where any other agent would feel allowed to relax and 'chill', she is the Black Widow. She doesn't 'chill'. Up until now she didn't know how to and she deep down never wanted to, no matter how Clint tries. She never wanted to fully drop her guard and leave herself exposed to anything. Being who she is, growing up the way she did, and having so many enemies lurking out for revenge due to her former killing jobs, she cannot 'chill' and relax, not fully at any situation. It is just not possible. She doesn't want to. It's too dangerous. The Black Widow in her doesn't want to. She can't. For whole her life since an enfant, she has always been in alert, even in her sleep. It's just who she is.

But the thing is, she just did. Without wanting to. For a moment there, she forgot about absolutly eveything, too consumed by all Maria. That never happened before. Never.

And she doesn't know if she is okay with that.

As always, Clint is looking out for her. Without meaning to he pointed out a problem that Natasha will have to deal with, because it can cause a potential threat to security. She doesn't know if she can allow herself to being lost in Maria like that. She honestly doesn't think that she can.

She looks at Maria for a few seconds, the bright blue eyes now dark with the passion they just shared. Maria's gaze is open for a moment, Natasha sees she let her walls down too. She is so gorgeous right now. Their breath are mixt together by their closeness, Maria's eyes smile at her as the lust draws back, the roar fire becoming a humming under skin. The embrace relaxes, Maria's muscles ease and her hands slide from Natasha's buttom to her thighs then to the tunnel floor. It is time, they both know it. Natasha carresses her cheek tenderly with a small smile of excuse – an excuse for so much more than Barton's interruption, but she isn't ready to talk about any of that now, she needs time to think - before moving off the Commander. Without a glimps behind her, she crawls to Clint and out of the tunnel with a grunt. Her body is a little sore from the limited space she's been crunched in for one hour and twelve seconds, plus an amount of time she didn't count when she was in Maria's embrace. She lost track of time. She frowns a second at the reminder, but she is fast to wipe out her face when she turns to Clint while she stretches her limbs. It isn't really necessary, her body is used to it seeing she's been wind up in worse spaces than this tunnel. For a moment her brain shows her an image of the training box. She learned a lot about the dark, patience and anatomy flexibility while she was left in the box for days on out without food or water. She is able to hide in any tiny places now. This tunnel's structure is nothing to her body. Still, she is a tool only usefull when every piece is working at it's fullest. Her body is her primal survival asset, she makes a point at taking care of it.

Barton is waiting for her on her left as she stretches and pops her bones into place with practice ease. He watches as she casualy takes pause against the wall with her arms crossed, a feet on the wall, waiting for Maria to fallow. She is guarded, she knows it, Clint knows it as well. He knows her. He knows she isn't ready yet and she knows he will wait. The Bruce encounters seems far away now, this trigger problem replaced by her response to Maria. She is tensed right now and she doesn't know what to do. Once again, she is lost. Very aware of the hawk watching her, she wants to betray nothing of her inner turmoil, but it's Clint that is facing her, and they are alone. He earned her trust and her friendship a long time ago, he tought her to be more open, to let him read her. He tought her that it was okay to be human and to feel emotions. She is still learning, they both know that, and he is patient, but they made progress over the years. She made progress over the years. She owns it to him, and to herself, to let her guard drop.

There are so many confusing emotions pulsing under her blank mask.

Slowly, she releases her tension and breathes deeper. She doesn't meet his eyes first, feeling ambarrassed as always when he finds her like this. By now it became a routine for them. He is waiting for her to drop the pretend and she does. As always she sighs, uncrosses her arms and chances a glance in his direction. He is worried. He is relieved too. He waits.

'I'm fine'

She tries to reassure him but she can't help but avoid his eyes.

'Tash'

She is watching the floor, waiting for Maria to come out of the tunnel so they can move out and join the rest of the personnal. There must be something to do, and if not, she'll go to the gym. Punching stuff always helps her get rid of the lingering emotions that visit her sometimes. She's not one to talk about it.

The Bruce thing, she can put words on it -but she won't -, it is an old wound she already knows about, already talked about with Fury once – which makes her think he put her in this situation with the Hulk for a reason. About Maria though, she can't. She can't even think about it right now. It's still fresh, new, she needs more data, and more time.

Maria still doesn't show. She is giving them a little bit of time for themselves. She must have guessed Barton needs it. The truth is, Natasha needs it too. HZr friend is an anchor to her right now. He is familiarity.

'Tash, look at me. Tasha'

Clint's voice is low, steady. She doesn't look. He sighs. He walks to her and Natasha can now see his SHIELD standard black boots pointing toward her. It is their ritual.

She knows what comes next and she secretly waits for it.

Clint sighs once more, his tone more playful now. With the roughness of the awkward family they became, he grabs her shoulders at arms's lengh, her eyes still to the floor. Natasha's hands go to his forearms, gripping at him like she always does. Like a thank you, like an apology, like a promess. She is okay now. If not quite, then she will be. She doesn't look at him when he steps into her, but she welcomes the hug all the same. The rough hug of the man she loves as she would a brother, she supposes now that her view on love has recently change she understands that it is love that she feels toward him. Her hands are clunching his shoulders from below, her chin resting on his right shoulder. She closes her eyes thight.

The embrace is always short and intense, a reassurance of their bond, of their connection. Clint has always been the one to really get her, without a word. He knows her like he can read her, not all the lines but the big lines, the lines that count. Like she is a book with pages of color, and even if he can't read the words and know the subject of the page, he can see the color of the print, the feeling underneath. Yes, even when her training made her the perfect spy and assassin, she never fully became a tool. She was still human. That's what he saw in her. He was the first to look. At the beginning, so long ago, she made herself closed off and unreadable with her usual Black Widow routine, but he still saw her clearly behind her mask. It used to grit on her nerves, even if she didn't show it to anyone. His playfull side seemed always more highten when she was around, but she finally realised that he was looking at her like a teammate worth of his time and attention. Worth meeting the real him too. The Hawkeye was as loner as she was, but he liked her, she had no idea why. Maybe he recognised the broken in her as a reflection of him. With her, he could be the real himself, not the insipid stoic monosyllabic version he exposed to SHIELD. With her he was a funny bastard with good intention and a cheesy smile full of shit. She became used to his banter over the years. She welcomed it.

Now they are hugging in a hallway and it is nice, it is okay, he is allowed to do it and even if she never tells him she likes it, she lets him know as she tightens her hold on his shoulder for two seconds more before he releases her. He steps back, their eyes meet briefly and he clears his throat. The man is a teddy bear full of emotions. Natasha loves him. She gives him a half smile and bumps his shoulder with hers. He chuckles.

'Whatever' he says with a sarcastic tone. 'Beer ?'

She smirks at him, their sensitive moment finished.

'Vodka'

'I second that' comes an other voice from behind them with a resounding note. The Commander straightens in her usual stance after crawling out of the vent. Well, Maria does, because she doesn't look like the Deputy Director of anything right now, with her hair wildly escaping their pony tail, her black shirt and black short with black sneakers on. She looks like she should be training on a gym mat, not crawling in tunnels, but she makes do with her usual maner and places her hands on her hips with her head high.

Natasha quircks an eyebrow at her, a smile threatens to force itself on her lips. Her guard is still down and she doesn't know how to put it back up when Maria looks at her like this, fiercly awkward. The three of them have no social skills.

Maria clears her throat.

'I mean, if you don't mind me joining.'

The blush that creeps on her neck is cute when she swallows and scolds her figure into one of the Deputy Director Hill. Her posture clearly warns them to ignore her embarrassment if they know what is good for them. She is the one pointing out the missions. Natasha really doesn't want to be grounded, and Clint better read the warning now. She knows his big mouth runs a little too much freely sometimes when he is off duty. Before Barton's unpredictable reaction pops its head, Natasha takes the ball.

'Of course' her low voice, still hoarse from her little emotion feast, answers quickly. She chances a glance in Clint's direction and for now he seems to battle between being in mission mode, the Agent facing his Commander, or not. She knows the feeling. It is new to her too, to be at ease with Maria and Clint in the same space. With Clint, she is the familiar Natasha she learned to be, but with Maria she is a Natasha she doesn't understand yet. A Natasha that scares her sometimes. Like when they were in the tunnel minutes ago. Those Natasha are not the same, and she doesn't know which one to pick.

There is a beat of awkward silence where everyone tries to adjust. Maria's face is contorted and it is clear she is thinking of a way out of this. Her impulsive request to join wasn't something she herself thought about before saying it. It just came out of her. The proper, controled Commander is losing her footing too, apparently. Natasha is glad she's not the only one.

The change in Maria lasts a second, she is about to open her mouth and make out an excuse to leave, Natasha sees it clearly, when their eyes lock. Natasha's chest jumps.

'Come' she bursts out on impulse. Seems like the talking before thinking thing is contagious. She bits her lip before her mouth decides to say anything else without her conscent. Their eyes are still deeply locked when Maria's small smile appears. The teasing-caring smile that Natasha really likes to see. Natasha knows she is blushing now.

'Alright then' Maria's voice is sure and light. She drops her hands to her side, her body relax. Natasha is about to close the distance when, next to her, Clint brushes his short hair on the top of his head, clears his throat with a playfull 'huh, hum !' effectively shattering their moment and reminding them of his presence.

Natasha forgot about him again.

She looks to the side and frowns.

'Vodka time, ladies !'

Apparently he has decided which Clint he would be on this encounter.

Quickly Natasha erases her concern and tunnes herself to Clint's playfullness. This, she is familiar with. Gracely, she jumps left and right in the corridor, using the walls as rebounding boards, distancing herself from them. She needs a second to compose herself. For now, she decides, she cannot relie on the Natasha she is being with Maria. It isn't right. She will need time and retrospect to make it right. But now isn't the time. So now, she will be the Natasha she learned to be with Clint, this one she can be without a scratch, no problem. She comes to her conclusion when she stops her dance at the end of the hall. She turns arround with a playfull glint in her eyes.

'Are you coming then ?' she asks with the innocent tone she knows Clint will take as the challenge it is. The circus entertainer that he was sparks at the opening. Bending his muscles with a mischievious glint in his eye he leaps up and starts on his own demonstration of acrobatic flips, taking up speed and adding complicated moves as he goes. Show off. Natasha is amused by the joy obviously shining out of him when her gaze finds Maria's as the woman casualy walks toward them. For a moment their eyes lock and Natasha feels herself spiraling once again in her oblivious state. When she recognises the symptoms she quikly cuts the exchange and blinks, focusing on Clint.

Okay, no eye contact for a while then.

Clint finished his last complicated flip with a thud barely noticable. He is a better arrow bird than he is a quiet fighter when it comes to spying, but, as he once pointed out, when he finds himself in need to fight it means that the spy part is over, so it doesn't matter if his moves are not soundless as hers. To him it is true, to Natasha it isn't. She often finds herself in need to eliminate inconveniences quickly and noiselessly as to keep her cover. Her moves are always silent and neat. She also knows the right chemicals necessary to erase her body count in a tub. Dropping a corps at sea definitly has her preferency. To each it's skill.

She chances a glance in Maria's direction. The Deputy Director is still stiff, but her demeanour tries to relax. Nothing in her shows she noticed Natasha avoiding her gaze. Good. Natasha doesn't want any more headache coming her way. Her personnal life is enough complicated as it is. Years ago she didn't have a personnal life. Sometimes she still thinks life, back then, was maybe bloodier and lonely -dark-, but it seems to have been easier too.

'I need a drink' she almost whines when Barton finishes his entertainer's salute with a practised smile, waving at his imaginary fans.

' You and me both, girlfriend' He says, his fake smile still on. Natasha knows the presence of the Deputy Director is a hard pill to swallow for him. The man is allergic to authority figures.

'I suggest we go to your bunk though' Maria joins in with what looks like a friendly smile. She tries. Even as Natasha avoid looking at her directly, she still sends her a gratefull smile. She knows it is hard for Maria to drop the Commander stance arround... anyone as fare as she knows. Even with Coulson or Carter she looks always stiff.

Maria doesn't say more and she doesn't have to. They all know that Maria's quarters are not an option to relax, because the woman is the Hard Ass Commander and she is always on call, always available even in her sleep for anything. She has this reputation and so her agents go for her, night and day if they know she is arround. If they go in her room they are sure to be interrupted.

Better go to Natasha and Clint's bunk if they want to get off the gride.

Natasha feels warmth spread in her chest as she realises Maria would prefer spend her time with her than on duty. She knows how running the Agency is important to the Commander, how she lives duty to the core in every heartbeat. It is not a small thing for her to choose to be with Natasha instead. The sentiment makes Natasha ashamed of her earlier avoidance. Maria doesn't deserve her closing off on her, not when she is herself trying very hard to open herself to Natasha.

'Well it's a given' Clint retorts with a snort. Cause the Deputy's place is absolutly not a 'chill out' environnement, he says immediatly with a laugh, waving his hand dismissing the very bad visual of them drinking there. This office is upthight, no way he's gonna relax inthere, he adds without a care of Hill's glare directed to him.

'Okay then, let's go' Natasha intervens before the pist off Maria can step closer to the oblivious Hawkeye. The man is just asking for trouble, she needs to shut him up. She goes next to him, grips his shoulder a little too hard as a warning that he choses to not understand seeing as he looks at her with a raised eyebrow, and she pushes him further. Thankfully their bunk is close by, the vodka is calling to her from afare.

'Good for me' Maria grites on her other side, joining in. She visibly breathes and tries to relax her nerves. For Natasha. For Natasha, Maria tries to tolerate Clint's behavior. She knows how important he is to her.

Natasha loops her arm with Clint as they walk. She is glade Barton stayed with her while she was having an episode. From most of them she can get out by herself, desapearing into the wild without a word to anyone, reappearing days later like nothing happened, but today she couldn't let Bruce alone waiting to the evac. Well, she could have, the man being the Hulk can certainly manage without her, but she felt responsable somehow. She didn't want to let the Hulk get loose with no marking point if she could help it, it would have been counterproductive after weeks of work creating what she might call the beginning of a bound with the Big Guy. Trust and reliablity are keys. So, she stayed until the very moment when Banner was in good hands, but by then they were already in the sky and she had no way out to isolate and deal with her little problem.

Natasha knows it is the child part of her that still fears the brutal strength of her opponent. She rationaly knows she can handle them, she developed many skills for it. Most of the time she would just erase the threat with poison, a thrown knife or a sniper shot. She knows all the ways to avoid physical contact, but even when her target surprises her – which is rare and only when she is under cover with no access to all the information regarding the situation - seduction and desguise are enough to get close and hit for the kill in one motion. If not, she can manage a fight with her speed and light weight, dance around her opponent, tireing them off and slicing deep in their skin with every knife move poison knives that spread fast, each time going for the weak spots or the tendons or arteries, desembling them in minutes. Natasha knows all this, but still, her childish fear resumes. She doesn't think of it, she doesn't give it any attention because she knows how to keep it locked in a box deep in her mind. It never bother her in the field, her body reflexes and thrive to survival mixt with adrenaline are enough to make her move, fight and kill anyone in any situation, like the perfectly oiled machine she is. To her, her childish fear is nothing more than, a shadow somewhere in her past, the scar of her upcoming that doesn't prevent her from being deadly efficient and always successfull. So, she never delt with it. She never had to. Sometimes, very rarely, she just takes some time by herself after the mission, because sometimes, very rarely, some of her missions reminds her of moments she would rather forget.

But with the Hulk assignment, she was face to her demons with a high schell, and she couldn't walk out for weeks. It was the mission to stay and deal. So she had no choice but to face her demons. Faced with the memory of Sergei chooking her, of Alexei bitting her, of all the grown men grabbing her frale form, the form of a child barely seven years old trying to learn as fast as she could to survive this place, but never fast enough to escape their hands, their fists and their boots. Not for the first years. After that, she was fast, she moved everywhere, she found their weak spot and she managed to slip her slim body away from their grasp. That came after, but the lingering terror of the beginning is still there, deep. Facing the Hulk non-stop for weeks, Natasha found herself facing her shadows, her bleeding scars, the dark memories of her past that she managed to never think about before since her opponent always were so easy to trick and kill – or sedate after she joined the Agency. Her deep past, her childhood, she left it all behind, she never talked about it. Her therapists didn't push her, they only made sure she was fully deprogrammed from her previous KGB training, that she was aware of SHIELD's views about peace, protocols and line of work. They kept her in line, but never forced her to a proper therapy. They knew she wouldn't go for it. It isn't mandatory. They never force anyone into therapy, even when some of the agents in this boat probably should, with the shitty past they all have. They are not much, in the Helicarrier, to have their origine in the darkness, but Natasha sees them as they see her each time they cross path. They don't talk. They don't have to. They just see each other. It doesn't mean they form a club, it doesn't mean they form any bond or any friendship of any kind. It just means that they are not the only fucked up agent in this ship, and somehow that makes it easier. She feels less out of place.

Natasha is not the only one with a dark past. That thought helps to find peace about it all. To find peace with her past dids. She thought she was at peace, she even developed love in her life. But then she had to go on a mission with Banner, and all of her past came crashing at her door like a punch in the guts, demanding to be heard with no way out. A Nick Fury shock therapy.

She remembered the first time she couldn't move because of fear.

She remembered the terror, cold in her veins. Paralised.

She remembered the first time she was touched, the first bruise, the first hot pain of being grabbed with a thight grip.

She remembered the first time she tasted blood on her cut lip, or the first time she heard her bone break under a hard bitting.

She remembered the first time she was raped, and all the times after.

She remembered the helplessness, each time when she didn't move fast enough, when she didn't fight back hard enough.

She remembered death floating many times beside her like a crow.

Yes, at some point in her childhood a spark inside her core had set fire to her spirit and truely made her a fighter, tooth and nails. Yes, she moved out of her fear and found her balance. Yes she dodged and grited her teeth. She hit back. Harder. Stronger. Faster. She was angry, then cold, then she realised her body, her curves, her sexuality could be a good distraction, making her attackers unfocused. She used that too. She learned to smirk, to tempt, to tease. Then to strike. She stopped being the monse and she became the cat, playing with them, with their weakness for her curves. When seduction didn't work, she tried other approche, taunting them, insulting them. The easy insult didn't work on their nerves so she developed her own way to annoy them. At that point, she had created her signature behavior, coy and wit, and she felt nothing, she was a void. That's when they stopped the hard sauvage fighting and started training her, teaching her moves. Her tormentors became her mentors without a care. She didn't care either. All in all, she became a deadly machine, even in the face of massive men full of muscles she would just smirk, taunt, flirt. And win.

She choose to remember that part of the training only. The part when she overcomed and became the perfect assassin she was meant to be. She never looked back to the beginning of it all. The Hulk forced her to.

Clint turns right in the next hallway. Natasha doesn't glance aside to Maria, she knows she can't keep being lost in her eyes, but that doesn't mean she can't reach out to her. She casualy lets her hand fall between them. The back of her hand brushes regularly against Maria's, and each time she feels a shiver running up her arm that makes her want to smile. Her lips curve in the side of her mouth as she looks down, feeling shy sudenly. Damn, she is losing her control again. Even without eye contact. The mere presence of Maria near her is enough to burst out her focus. She keeps walking, hesitates to retrieve her hand, as Clint disconnects their arms and goes right to a more opened area, leaving the noisy vent behind.

At the sixth brush of their hands, when Natasha is about to move her hand to her belt, Maria catches her fingers and tangles their hands. Natasha can't help the smile that spreads on her lips at the touch, her eyes still on the path they're on. Maria squeezes her hand a little and she responds in kind, feeling giddy, her belly trembles even as she tries to remain focus on her surroundings. She feels happy, she knows, it is a feeling she is still getting used to. After being long away on missions, it always feels strange to reintroduce herself to... her personnal life with playfull Clint and caring Laura, but it is that most difficult now that her personnal life became complicated with other feelings she tries to reins on. Even if she is happy, she is unconfortable. Her stomach agrees with a knot and a shiver laced with clumsyness and wearyness. She swallows and keeps an eye arround, trying to ignore the hand in hers as her whole being only wants to focus on the touch. She clenches her jaw and forces her mind to focus on the hallway, the people, assessening potential threats like she always do when she is awake. But even her rational mind is compromised by her fluttering heart, each time wanting to concentrate only on the thumb gently carressing the back of her hand, on the heat next to her, on the glimpse of naked skin at her periphery.

She swallows.

She is coming off a long assignment with the monstrous Hulk that left her raw and unbalanced, she still feels the scars on her soul fresh as if they were made yesterday and bleeding still, and yet here she is, holding hands with Maria in the hallway in the SHIELD Agency where everything is good and right and giddy and so strange. It feels good and out of place, like a dream too sweet to be true, that she shouldn't dare to hope for, making her unsure, both happy and reserved.

She is a mess.

She needs to drink.

Thanksfully the next turn is to the opened gate of the sleeping quarters. Since they are in a commun area of SHIELD's Agents's quarters, Clint, Natasha and Maria's faces are blank even if no-one is arround. Their hands unlock. They both need to keep their blooming relationship private, for many reasons they don't even have to talk about. It is natural both for Maria and for Natasha to act like nothing has changed between them. Except for Agent Hill being seen walking with Natasha and Clint toward their bunk. Maria quickens the pace. She isn't in her element. The Deputy Director has no business being in her agentst's private quarters, and she surely shouldn't be wearing sport outfits instead of her usual uniform.

She stops midstep however, stand still in the middle of the hallway and turns her head to the duo behind her with her cheeks slightly pink. She clears her throat, regaining her infamous Commander Hill attitude, hands behind her back and waits for them to catch up. She doesn't know where their bunk is. Natasha hides her amusement and walks by her, brushing her shoulder to Maria's arm innocently, keeps walking and stops to her door, the sixth on the right. As protocal their initials are curved in the small panel, enough to indicate their habitant but not enough to know exactly who lives down there. Clint isn't hidding his smirk when he joins her, Hill on his heels. Natasha sends him a warning glance, dismissed with a shrug of shoulder in his usual -privatly- carefree maner, before opening the unlocked door. No point in locking their door in a ship full of spies, some among them being specialists on entering every sort of closed compartment. The quarters of the Agency are not here for privacy anyway, it's a quiet space where one can relax and take a nape between ops, nothing more. If they want real privacy, they can go to their own apartement on the ground.

Natasha doesn't have a place of her own anywhere. The closest she ever had to it are the locations she uses to hide under the radar, patch up her wounds before turning to an other mission. No really homy, but she didn't know what a home was then. Before she was abduct and brought to Laura's doorstep. Now that she understands the idea of a home, she isn't sure she can make any room, apartement or house look like that, feel like that. Unless she hires Laura to make it homy for her. Naw, she better go spend as much quality time as she can directly at the Bartons where her really comfy couch is always waiting for her. A few times this year Clint joked about building an extension to the house so Natasha could have a proper room. She knows Clint enough now to know he wasn't kidding and is probably already calculating the blueprints and everything. The man loves working on their home, the treehouse and all the garden's supplies are proof of his dedication to his family. Natasha knows Clint is waiting on her to take the hint and give him an answer. He's been dropping massive allusions to it for a while now, losing his subtlety as always when his patience wears thin. As an agent, Hawkeye has an illimited patience on supplies, but as a family man he tends to whine and trump his foot like a child, his two sides making Natasha raise her eyebrow each time he starts complaining at home, because she knows he can behave himself if need be. The thing is, he doesn't want to, not when in private, not with his family. He wants to be able to be himself with the quiet of the farm, and be spontanious, not controlled, not restrained like a good soldier. Natasha is still at the point in her life where she understands the difference now, she does, she sees it in him everytime she goes to the Barton's, and she is trying to take exemple from him, she is trying to be a spontanious Natasha. Of course, she'll never tell Clint she takes him as an exemple to fallow or he'll never let this down.

And now, Clint has already decided he's going to be himself, his private self, as they enter the bunk and he goes straight to the cabinet, not even bothering to unscratch his gear. He was coming off a mission of his own, some surveillance thing to gather data before sending Natasha in for the undercover part – she doesn't even know what this time is about and she doesn't care, she trusts Clint to have her back – when they crossed path and he took off after her when she couldn't stop to talk or reassure him. He takes the transparent bottle of liquor, set it on the table next to the little closet where they keep their small food supplie. The table is already full with crubs of tea cups, empty bowls of noodle soup and sodas cans, and yes, Natasha realises this place is a mess. The sheets on the beds are unfold, she remembers throwing the pillow back on the mattress before leaving - as always when each time she wakes up the damn thing has fallen on the floor during sleep. There are comics books lying arround on the floor and under Clint's bed, an other dirty cup of something under Natasha's own and, well, a few clothes here and there ready to be washed.

So, they are not the cleany type, but can anyone expect from them ? He is a former con artiste slash exotic dancer slash acrobat thief and she is... well, she is the Black Widow. She is no housewife.

Clint takes a taste directly from the bottle like they always do and Natasha goes to her bed. She tidy the sheet and blanket quickly, shufles with the pillow to make it bigger, confortable, she doesn't know, and she pats it some more when she puts it on the mattress against the wall at the feet of her bed. Clint raises an eyebrow at her and she shruges before turning to Maria with a motion of her hand toward her work, offering her to sit there. The tall, proud woman that is the Commander seems to be baffled by the scene and she doesn't see Natasha waving to her yet. She is too busy taking in the place and it's bare, impersonal walls. Natasha knows most other agents like to put pictures and posters on their bunk, some use a string to hang a curtain between the beds for some sort of bundaries and such, trying to make a little home to it. After all they are mostly living on these quarters, and once assign it is rare to change the room, so can decorate as they please, appart from painting the regular grey walls. Many has brought couch, tv, books and games, Clint and Natasha didn't. She moved in with him after her deprogramming, when Fury decided Clint had made a connexion to her and since he decided to notkill her she was his responsability and it was only right that he should be the first to be killed when his fuck up comes bitting at his ass – his words – so they've been living together for a long time. They moved to a new place since he was previously sharing with an other agent, and from there they found their groove. It is simple really. They clean when they want to, they eat when they want to, they sleep when they want to. Easy. And a little messy. But, well, it works for them.

When Maria scans the place her eyes land on something that makes her stop and smiles a little in the corner of her mouth. Natasha recognises the special grin she is trying to repress, probably out of privaty for Clint's very loud presence grunting at each swallow of alcohol, so she fallows the line of her gaze and sees the cover of the book she left somewhere in her bed before going with Banner. Harry Potter. As it turns out, it is quite nice to read someone else's fantasy life, and certainly to fall asleep on it. Even if those characters are each annoying in their own way, she finds herself coming back to it, just to be in an other univers for a while.

Clint is noisely taking off his gear now, dropping his fingerless gloves on the table next to what looks like an old pizza crust, zipping off his multipockets vest and putting it on the only chair of the place - the only furniture being at its proper place, under the table next to the still opened door. He snatches the bottle again and doesn't bother losing the belt full of hidden items when he walks to his bed – exactly three steps away from the table – and crash on the mattress with a grumph.

Maria's face is contort with an expression of puzzled disgust before her inner Commander kicks in.

'You need to report your gear and weapons to the storage, Agent' she snaps out of habit. Natasha and her are still standing in the little room with a smirking Barton looking bored. They all know better than to fall for that look.

'Maybe' is all he says and Maria's all stance goes rigid. His taunting nonchalance sets her on the offence.

'It is protocal' Her voice is cold, anyone could hear the threat, even an infant. Clint blatently ignores it with a gulp of his liquid. Natasha goes for the cabinet where the set of untouched glasses awaits. They never use it, always drinking from the bottle makes glasses irrelevents. But now, she figures, they have a guest, so she dugs the things out, clinging in her hand – she takes three, knowing already that Clint will fallow her lead even if goinr grumpy about it – and goes for the bottle. She grabs it and Clint tightens his grip, just to piss her off. Great, he is in a mood. What can possibly make him so grim ? Ah, yes, the authority figure standing in front of him, in his private quarter. He has a point.

She better light things up quick.

She stares at him untill he looks back at her, his stuburn frown in place. It doesn't take long for him to sigh and release his hold and she nods once, telling silently that she has his back but he better behave. They are all in this boat now. Weither he likes it or not, Maria is in the picture and she is not desapearing. He better accept it, fast. His fingers slip totally from the bottle and she steps out to her bed, sending a glance to the still opened door. Clint takes the exit opportunity, moves the bunch of clothes and sheets on the mattress before finding his towel. With the ability of the brilliant gymnastic he is under his current groaning behaviour, he bolts to the door without a word. He is out in a second with a smack for shuting the door a little too loud, leaving the previously growing tension melt slowly like a pierced balloon licking its air. A few seconds more and Maria breathes deeply with a sigh, a hand on her forehead, dropping her square shoulders and relaxing her stance. Natasha lets her be and goes for her bed, settling next to the spot she tidied for her guest. She is still wearing her own operation clothes, but Maria doesn't say a word about that. She must have realise that it isn't her place to point it out, not in here, not in this private moment. She can't be Commander Hill now, but she let it slipped with Clint and it is clear, as she rubs her neck awkwardly, still standing in the middle of the bunk, that she feels sheepish about it.

Natasha decides to let her regain some composture while she sets Clint's glass on the ground and fills the others to the half way up. It feels bizarre, drinking from a glass, somehow it makes her more aware of the quantity of her consumption. Usualy she drinks, and drinks, and drinks some more until the bottle is empty and Clint is on the floor while she is snickering about the last comic book story he is hooked about, waving her hands to make her point about the absurdity of it all. A Clint drunk is so very entertaining. When she drinks and drinks and the liquor doesn't affect her but clearly affects him, she never loses an opportunity to tease the little Clinty about his secret and obvious crush on Rogue, and she absolutly enjoys the ways he indignantly yels at her when she compares him to the Diablo character with a heavy accent. It's too easy.

Maria sighs and finally joins Natasha on the bed, elbow on her knees, feet on the ground. She doesn't say sorry, there is no need, they both know she is.

'I'm not good at this' Maria's low voice says in the silence, gaze to the floor.

It's Natasha's turn to sigh. She nudges a glass on Maria's vision.

'None of us are'

And it's true. After years working for SHIELD Natasha has come to the conclusion that there are three categories of agents. Those coming straight from a strict, patriotic education, probably with a police or military background and a family history of service, those being little punks left out, misunderstood, not quite feeting but with a big brain and a lot of crazy ideas about technology and stuff, a mix of rebel and gueek spirit, and then, there is the last category, the one of broken souls and highly trained monsters from the hell underground. She knows where Clint and herself go, but as for Maria she isn't sure in which box she checks in. She always sensed Hill has a heavy history of her own, and her recent thin but uge revelations about herself – the protective power thing and her abusive father – only confirm it.

Maria nods while taking the glass. She doesn't look up when she glups it in one go. She grunts and makes a face.

'That stuff is nasty'

Natasha smirks and settles a little more on the mattress. She crosses her legs indian style, not bothered by the two guns still holstered at both thighs. Her skin tight black SHIELD uniform has been made specialy for her as she requiered years ago upon taking on her first ops for the Agency. The tech team wasn't thrilled about it at first, since it was for the deadly unfamous Black Widow, but their search for new technology and improvement quickly get past the small detail about it's final wearer as they came with lots of ideas to make the cloth a weapon on it's on. Natasha knows every curve of this clothing, every pocket and every hidden item it contains. She is the only one, -except for the tech ingenery and the classified document they filed – to know the real potentiel of the uniform. As she did all thing in true ex-KGB assassin fashion, she trained with it, slept with it, ate with it, did every mundane thing while dressed in her black skin, so she is familiar with it like it's an extension of her own flesh. The thing even regulate her temperature. She drinks her own vodka the same way Maria did, only she doesn't blink an eyelash at the burn in her throat. She is used to it. Being immune to alcohol effect was part of her training. She half expects Maria to ask for a scotch instead, but the woman leans back on one hand, holding on the glass with the other in the general direction of the bottle on Natasha's lap.

They stay silent for a while, nursing their second drink. Natasha likes it when she is with people able to stay quiet. She avoids noisy people as much as possible, even when the annoyness can be undearing – like this doctor Simmons for exemple, of this Darcy person she met once briefly with Thor - it still makes her wanting to punch them in the face or sneak out to the closest exit. Natasha is more confortable in silence and lonelyness. Never the less she is the one finaly speaking up in the quiet of the bunk, because as she feels Maria relaxed now she also remarks her constant glances in her direction. Her worried glances.

'I'm fine now' Natasha murmurs softly, not meeting her eyes. She takes a sip. 'Thank you'

'Of course' Maria answers as softly and takes her own glass to her lips. 'You know, if you want to talk about it, or to go punch something to the gym... I can listen or hold the bag for you'

'How about a drinking buddy ?' Natasha raises the still opened bottle and drinks directly from it, forgetting the proper manner she started with. She hides her wince. She never uses the word 'buddy', not when she isn't under cover playing dumb. She is nervous. Great. Now her body and her mouth start getting loose again.

'I shouldn't' Maria stares at her glass, the liquid dances in her hand. 'I'm on call'

Natasha reads under the simple words. Maria has been with her for a long time now, and she never once made it feels like she would rather be somewhere else. But she has responsabilities, duties and a ship to govern for it not to sink. She is the Deputy Director and basicaly the unofficial boss of the whole Agency, the head of the world most powerful security program. And she is hanging out in here, in the shitty messy bunk of two of her best assets and more deranged human beings, offering her time and her care to Natasha, the Black Widow.

'I can keep you company though, if that's okay'

Maria shifts on the bed, unconfortable. Feeling bold and wanting to convein how much having Maria with her now is a gift she adknowledges, Natasha puts her hand on a bare shoulder, settling at the curve of the neck.

'I'd like that'

She watches as the thumb starts tracing random pattern on the smooth skin under Maria's ear. She sees the shiver at it waves through the Commander at the touch. The alcohol is all but forgotten as Natasha finds herself once again sucked in a time loop of too much feeling and not enough control. She is losing her feeting fast as her fingertips fallow the arc of the neck, the lose of brown hair. She wants to free those locks from their restrain and her hand goes for the rubben before her brain can make any decision. Her body is moving on it's own accord once more and she knows, she knows that if Maria turns her head right now, if she crosses her eyes, she'll be lost.

With the last shred of control she can muster under those circonstances, even as she hears the sweet melody of Maria's breath coming out shorter than before, Natasha finds the will to not distangle her hair. Swallowing hard, she drops her hand on the mattress between them, cutting the contact between their skin.

But it is too late, she realises, because even as they are not touching anymore, she still feels Maria like an invisible carress under her uniform, and it makes her breath itchs. Her fingertips stretch on the sheet, inching closer to the bare thigh right there, but she clenches her fist to keep it still. She is raking her malfonctionning brain to keep up with the conversation, even as she can't remember what they were talking about, which annoys her to no end and makes her grites her teeth. She tries to focus on that, on the disconfort that brings her unbalanced state, uncontroled and unfocused, but then Maria's hand left her glass on the floor and comes touching her chin. Natasha hasn't realised she dropt her head at some point, her eyes sulely focused on her fist and her sweaty palm begging to reach out. However Maria's fingers gently brush at her cheek, at her jaw, they hook and they pull, and all she can do is fallow the silent request. She knows she shouldn't, she wants to retract her face like she retracted her hand, but something in her, this new thing she doesn't understand, makes her yeald and surrender. Her last shred of resolve vanishes in an explosion in her chest when she meets the bright bleu eyes and the tender smile. And she is lost.

She is lost in blue ocean, in peacefullness and easy, in freedom and lightness. Her heart flutters and she can't breath, there is only the fierce bleu, kind and inviting. Promessing.

'Hi' Maria says with her special smile only for Natasha.

'Hi' Natasha says back breathlessly.

There is a glint in blue then, a sudden hunger, a call for touch and Natasha's core hears it well, Natasha's whole being cries for it too. She barely notices Maria's fingers playing with loose of her long curling red hair, she is too immerged by the blue siren coming closer as the space between them seems to desapear inch by inch. It is like gravity, it is like coming up for air and she can't remember why she wanted to stop it minutes ago. She can't remember anything, in fact, and she doesn't care.

But then, the hunger in Maria's eyes shifts and becomes gentle, the want becomes soft entrancing melody. When their foreheads meet, Natasha closes her eyes for a second, Maria's finger still playing in her curls.

'You're here' Maria's voice is full of wonder. There is a pause as they both feel the reality of their reunion. 'I missed you' Natasha can hear the shyness in the strong Commander, and she smiles with her eyes still closed. She feels delighted and playfull as her smile stretches more and more. She doesn't want to open her eyes, not yet, she wants to swim in the sensation, because she feels it now, at last, the quiet yearning that accompagnied her during her time away without knowing it, with each breath each day every day, the small squeeze in her chest and the heavyness that shadowed her steps. When Maria says the words, Natasha realises what was the strange pressure inside her, and how it seems to desappear now that they are together again, without any drama in the way.

Her eyes bolt wide open. 'I missed you too' And she knows there is wonder in her voice too.

It is so strange, to live a usual situation with such a different impression. It is not the first time Natasha goes dark for a mission, usualy for weeks or months with only scripted notes to Clint on dropping points. It is not the first time she comes back to the Agency, to the people she knows and that know her, the real her – she can count them in one hand though, there is Clint, Laura of course, the children, and there is Coulson too. But now it feels totally different, now that she comes back to find Maria. It always felt nice to be in privates moments with friend before, first reluctantly then openly smiling slightly, but now in Maria's quiet hold with her fingertips lightly brushing her jaw, her ear, everything they can reach with their caress, she feels... so much more.

Natasha knows what missing someone is, she understood the first year when she came to care for Laura, Cooper and Lila. Each time she joined them there was this sensation, and Laura tought her what it was. To miss someone. To be happy to be reunited with them. Only, with Maria, it is stronger and it makes her feel like gelly.

Maria's smile is small, content. Their heads are still connected and she won't stop sliding her hand in red curls. Natasha like the feel of her touch on her. It feels so intimate.

'Can i kiss you ?'

She feels it too. She silently agrees with Maria, it's been too long since they touched, since she tasted her lips, the velvet of her mouth and the murmur of her moans. Still grinning like a fool, Natasha doesn't answer but leans the rest of the way to a waiting mouth and then she is not smiling anymore, she is dancing softly, her lips to Maria's in a quiet hello. There is no rush as she feels Maria's breath on her face, as the fingers clench around her jaw and a hand finds a place on her side, so close to her left breast that a thumb brushes the outside of it slowly. Natasha's own hands chose to move on their own, forgetting her empty glass and clapsed bottle. She hooks her fingers behind Maria's open neck while the other sneaks under the shirt in the small of her back. She feels the bare skin shiver.

Their bodies hum with satisfaction as they restore the start of a connection, after weaks bring away for each other.

Wanting more, her growing need makes Natasha's tongue dart its head, asking for entrance. Immediatly Maria complies with a sound close to relief, she greets Natasha with her own. The sweet taste and scent of sweat lingers on Maria's skin, and when Maria sucks on Natasha's tongue with a new vigor the mixt sensations sends chills to her core. The moan that escape Natasha's throat is so foreign to her own ears she doesn't realise she is the one doing it. But she is. She is melting in Maria's embrace, her senses tunned only to her, when their chest come flush and hands come full cercle around waists and necks, the gentle hold becomes wilder. It is beyond her from the start, the way her body reacts to this woman as it has it's personnal agenda, seeking out contact, flesh, breathless sounds of extasy.

'So, doest that mean i should knock from now on ? '

The manly voice bursts their moment like a bucket of water. Natasha feels the jolt of control coming back to her to punch her hard. Their mouth disconnect instantly and they are breathing hard, but for Natasha it isn't about passion anymore. Or it is, but it's more about the conscequence of it. She lost control again. She cut herself from everything that was not Maria. And she didn't hear Clint coming.

Clenching her jaw, she distances herself from the panting Maria on the bed. She almost stands, but then she sees something, she sees Maria. Hill seems torn between keeping her soft crumbled self, keeping the private Maria, opened or retrieve behind her Commander walls. Even as Natasha lives her own personal tourmoil right now, she sees her compagnion's behavior and assesses the situation coldly.

Well, on the good note it looks like her capacity to think, calculate and assess her surroundings in one go is back into place.

Turning on the mattress Natasha forces herself to stay sitted. She knows her body is stiff and her stare is hard now, she is mad at herself for letting go of her vigilance. But she'll have to deal with it later. Clint is raising an eyebrow at her, leaning against the doorframe of the open bunk, his towel hanging at his naked hips, drops of water everywhere. He always says he likes to let the water dry by itself. Right now, he is looking at her with a slight grin on his face, there is amusement but there is concern too. He knows her better perhaps than she knows herself, for all the times he guessed what was going on in Natasha's head before she knew it herself – and yes, his suggestion of her moving in with the family is one of the demonstrations of his power to read her, because she secretly enjoys the idea to live with them all full time – so he sees right through her, and she is so gratefull for that.

Natasha tries not to close herself up and start analysing her comportement, because Maria next to her is freaking out on her own way too. So she doesn't look at her, she can't, not right now, but she finds her hand and tangle their fingers then squeeze. It's okay, it says. It's okay. We'll adjust.

She has no idea how, but they will. They always do. She found a way to close a freaking gate to an other dimension in the New York sky, she will find a way to navigate this new relationship as well.

Her determination shines in her posture, and the two agents with her seem appeased by it. Maria relaxes next to her, and she knows without looking that she choose not to take her Commander's image. She choose to stay Maria in front of Clint.

Like switching a button, Clint is on partner mode, or more on best friend mode. He senses Natasha's struggle and goes for the intertaining part of himself.

' Okay, i've got a new one ' he says with a smug grin on his face while dropping his old cloth on the ground at the feet of his bed. Natasha grunts in mock annoyance, but truly she is relieved her friend is here to support her and make her feel grounded. She needs some normal, as normal as they can both be. They have a routine.

Maria doesn't say anything, she just twitches her hand so their fingers interlace in a better position. Not long after that, her thumb starts drawing on the back of Natasha's hand, and she knows she's okay now.

' Artie told me this one : what is a mole on a blonde's butt ? ' Clint continues his moving arround, digging out a cereal box, plonging his forearm in it and bringing a handfull to his mouth like an innocent ten years old. He eyes both women, waiting, munching. More like building up the suspense he clearly is the only one to sense. Maria and Natasha are no good public for his jokes, but he ignores it, too engrossed in his rôle to notice. Clint loves telling jokes, to anybody that really know him that is. No need to say it is the first time Maria sees that part of him. Sure, she suspected his playfull side, seeing glimpse of it from afare, but she never had it first hand. Natasha doesn't even has to look, she knows Hill has an eyebrow raised hearing the subject of conversation – or monologue so far. The scene makes her smile. She is safe, with her two friends. Even if she is confused and absolutly needs to deal with her lack of control, she is safe none the less.

She sends a thankfull smile to Clint. Her body releases its tension and she finally leans back in the bed, back to the wall next to Maria. Hands still locked between them, she closes the gap, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, and bring they joigned hands to her lap. She drops her head on Maria's shoulder. Hill stiffens at that demonstration of intimaty but Natasha squeezes her hand once again. It's okay, it says. You can relax. And she does. Then Natasha hooks her wagon to Clint's show, sighs heavely and pretends to be yawning loudly.

' Soooo ? What's the answer, boyfriend ? ' she asks the ritual question with her husky voice. And that's what he was waiting for. He snickers under his breath, feeling in the suspence, even rubs his hands together in delight at the chute.

' A brain tumor ! ' He actually jumps a little on his toes, his cheesy grin wide on his face, the picture of a grown child. Natasha loves him so much.

' Not bad ' she rolls her eyes and doesn't laught because, well, it's not that funny, it's an easy joke as the one before that, and the one before that. It's Clint's thing. ' There ' she points the corner of the room, on the microwave. Clint goes for his worn notebook, there must be hundreds written in there by now. She brings her free wrist to her mouth, teeth to one of the small pockets there, and retrieve a tiny pen. ' Here ' she calls. She sends the item slowly, he catches it effortessly. ' Don't press the top button ' Otherwise he'll be good for a nap. He stays by the microwave, still in his towel dropping water everywhere and notes his new discovery with a lot of attention. She sees as he refreins from chewing on the tip of the pen. He brings it to his mouth with a focus frown.

'How to you spell brain ? ' he asks with a smirk he can't hide.

Natasha doesn't respond to that, but she senses Maria really wants to. Natasha's other hand carress the inside of the bare forearm and Hill exhales and totally forgets about him.

' I prefered the other one about the alien though ' Natasha keeps the easy conversation going. For a while after the whole Loky debacle, Clint found a way to deal with his trauma by using heavy jokes all the time. It came to a point where Laura forced him to make an appointement to a shrink, as he called it. Only then he started really healing and the jokes became less dark and more fun. Some jokes were actually really good, and it was an added bonus when Natasha was there to witness Thor's reaction to it. 'What was the one about spaceship again ? With the red button thing' she asks absentmindly, her hand still brushing Maria's inner arm.

Clint points a thoughtfull finger to his chin. 'Mmmm'

Natasha's attention isn't on him anymore. Maria is tensed suddenly and it's not for fear of a new bad humor exposure. She sees her taping her ear.

'Hill' The tone is sharp as the Commander answers her phone. She doesn't move yet, but it's clear she is about to. She has an Agency to run. Natasha is amazed she got to spend so much time with her already. As predictable, the Deputy Director clenches her jaw. 'Tell him i'm there in five' With a new tap she disconnects the coms and sighs heavely, closing her eyes briefly. When she opens them once more she looks at Natasha, her blue eyes soft despite her tense posture against the pillow. The Commander choses to ignore the presence of Clint and smiles to Natasha, her special caring smile. She brings the hand still closed in hers to her lips, brushes her skin softly. When she puts their joined hands down to her own bare lap, her other hand comes to play with long red hair near Natasha's face. All the while Natasha forgets to breath and definately forgets about Clint too. She is too engrossed by Maria's stare and gentle care. Her gesture of departing. For now.

They are no women for empty words, the gesture is enough of a good bye and a promess to meet soon, as soon as both their lives allow. For now, the moments they've shared, even tainted by the tunnel part, are a gift and a secret memory to cherish. Until next time.

Natasha doesn't move as Maria distangles herself and stands up in the messy bunk. She watches her becoming the Commander Hard Ass Hill, muscles tense, jaw set. Even in her sport attire with her hair a little out of place, this woman commands respect and attention. Her authority radiates from her like heat from the sun. She is already at the door, hand on the handle, when Natasha's brain pops an information to her consciousness.

'Wait ! 'She bolts out of bed. In two steps she is next to Maria. Hill has stopped her movement but is clearly counting her time. 'What about your appartement ? Your safety ? Did you eliminate the threat ? ' Natasha's whole attitude is tense, concerned. She silently berates herself for not thinking about it sooner.

She knows Maria can handle herself, of course, but it doesn't stop her belly to feel like there are knots in it. It's unconfortable. She is worried, like the first time she watched Cooper climb the mapple tree at the farm.

Hill shrugs one shoulder quickly, opens the door and is already out.

'Sorry Nat, i don't have time now. But i'm okay, i'm taking care of it' She murmures.

So no, she didn't find them, they are still out there somewhere waiting for an other opportunity to strike. There is no time to discuste this and Hill is almost at the corridor when she stops short and turns arround, her fierce eyes to Natasha.

'It's fine' All in her screams power to be recoin with. Natasha remembers Maria's secret protection then.

'Okay' she nods in the hallway where agents watch Maria curiously.

Maria's eyes shine a little at that, then she is gone in a flash.

Natasha is still looking at the deserted exit when Clint – now dressed – comes next to her, arms crossed on his chest.

'She's been living here. No incident. I've not been arround much but you know her. The Commander doesn't let a threat slide. She'll handle it.' He shoves an arm accross her shoulder and drags her to their bunk. 'If the boss is gonna be your girlfriend from now on, i think i need an other drink. '

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TBC

:o)