As always, my apologies for the long wait. For some reason, my mind insisted on jumping ahead and working on future chapters instead of focusing on this one. I just hope I can remember everything when I finally get around to writing them. I reworked a couple of parts of this multiple times and finally decided to stop. What I was trying to make clearer just seemed to get more confusing. Hopefully, you'll have no idea which parts.

I still don't own the Avengers, which is why I'll be heading back to work in the morning.

I had written out 'thanks' to each of you lovely people who took the time to review, but I apparently hit a wrong key and my entire author note disappeared (I had just finished writing it and hadn't saved yet). Please know, though, that I greatly appreciated each and every one more than you could possibly know. I hope my little stories give you as much joy as your comments give me.

Also, my thanks for your favorites and follows. I appreciate those as well.

Now, on with the tale.

Complications 11

I studied myself critically in mirror, then sighed.

Not bad, but I doubted that Phil would be driven to declare his undying love.

I had gone down to be fitted for my new uniforms and had explained my clothing dilemma to Cindy. She narrowed her eyes and studied me for several moments.

"Lunch with friends," she commented.

I nodded.

"Male or female?"

"2 men, 1 woman."

"Double date?"

"Not exactly," I explained. "Guy introducing his new girlfriend to two other strictly platonic friends."

"I'm assuming you're one of the platonic friends?"

"Definitely."

She continued to study me. "Do you want to go completely nonthreatening or give her a 'watch out' message?" she asked.

I hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Kid sister nonthreatening," I finally answered.

Her eyes narrowed further as she seemed to consider my pause.

"Heels?" she inquired.

"Probably need to stick with flats,"I admitted reluctantly. "I still have some balance issues and falling flat on my face is not the impression I want to make on Phil's new friend."

"But it would be memorable," she commented.

"In our work, memorable isn't always a good thing," I reminded her.

With a smile and another nod, she disappeared into the storeroom. When she returned, she handed me a shopping bag filled with clothes. I peeked into it, then looked at her.

"I really just needed something for lunch," I reminded her. "Usually, I'm just going to be wearing my uniform or work-out clothes."

She shrugged. "It's just a few basics. The stuff everyone should have on hand. Jeans, slacks, skirt, shoes. A few tops. Mostly casual, a couple of dressier things. Anyway, you've got a few things just in case you need a change." After further study, she pulled out her phone and fired off a quick text.

"Actually, I'll have this sent to your quarters while you head to the salon." Before I could protest, she continued. "I know it's been a rough few months, Agent Hill, but your hair looks atrocious. It's uneven and shaggy. Too long in places, horribly crooked in others. I do know that you've got a good reason for the condition, but it's time to do something about it."

She glanced down as her phone beeped to indicate and incoming text. "Great. Trace says he'll be waiting for you. If anyone can work a miracle on that, it's him."

As tempted as I was to argue with her, I knew she was right. My last cut had been a hurried stop at one of the chain places in a strip mall and even that had been well before the shooting. The medical staff had been far more interested in taking care of the wound than they had been in aesthetics.

Which was good, but, she was right. It was time to fix it.

XXXXXXXXX

When I arrived at the salon, I was met by a well groomed, middle aged man.

"Agent Hill?" When I nodded, he introduced himself as Trace, then led me to a chair and draped an apron around me. Pulling out my ponytail holder, he studied me for a few moments.

"Mission prep?" he asked.

"No," I answered, "Just time for a trim."

His eyes met mine in the mirror, his brow lifting.

"Okay," I admitted. "Way past time for a whole lot more than a trim."

He smiled slightly as he began combing out the ends. "I may be a mere hairdresser, but I'm still SHIELD. I have a pretty good idea what you folks out in the field do."

At my curious gaze, he shrugged. "People talk to their hairdressers. Don't worry, though. We've all got security clearance and are reminded regularly to keep our mouths closed."

"Good."

"When you have to choose between saving the world or getting your trim, I much prefer you do the former. We'll work in the latter when you're able."

He worked his fingers through my hair, carefully working out the tangles, then started at the base of my skull, gently massaging my scalp. I forced myself to relax, watching his face in the mirror as his fingers worked their way upward, instantly stilling when he encountered the first scars.

A quick look of something...sympathy, maybe?...flashed across his features, then was gone.

"Is any of this still sore?" he asked. "Tender to the touch?"

I shook my head slightly.

"Any areas I need to be particularly careful?"

"No. As far as I know, the doctors got everything covered properly. Other than telling me to avoid hitting it against things as much as possible, they never said anything about being overly cautious. I pretty much wash and brush as I always have."

"Okay if I look?" he asked.

When I shrugged, he started gently moving my hair out of the way to get a better look at just exactly how much and where the scar tissue was.

"Anything in particular you want?"he finally asked.

"No. I just need to be able to keep it out of my way. Long enough to pull it back or short enough it won't need to be." He nodded. "And probably something that will keep that covered," I added. "I doubt it's very nice to look at."

"I've seen worse," he told me airily, picking up a comb. "And unless you want a buzz cut or a Fury, keeping it covered shouldn't be a problem. His eyes darted to mine as he realized what he had said.

"Interesting how a scalp massage can affect what you hear. Or don't hear," I told him, leaning back and closing my eyes. Taking the hint, his fingers once again working their magic.

The time in the chair had been well spent, I thought. He had evened the jagged spots, giving me long layers and subtle highlights that caught the light. After quickly showing me a couple of simple braids and twists to keep it out of my face, he made sure I had his contact information as well as that of a couple of other stylists.

"When you're ready for your next trim, you can set up something with me or one of these people. While everyone here is good, some of us have a little more experience dealing with certain things," he told me with a small smile.

I wondered if he had ever imagined this would be a part of his job.

XXXXXXXX

I had chosen a dressy, sapphire blue cotton t-shirt that brought out the color of my eyes. A cream colored skirt fell demurely just below my knees. Apparently, though, Cindy hadn't entirely believed me when I told her to go nonthreatening. A small motion opened a high slit revealing a glimpse of leg.

Rather nice looking leg, I thought, though it would look even better if I could finish off the outfit with a nice pair of heels. I rose to my toes experimentally.

No. Definitely not ready for heels. Sighing, I pulled out a pair of ballet flats that perfectly matched the color of the shirt then transferred my wallet and ID into the clutch purse Cindy had provided before heading down to the garage to meet Phil and Clint.

When I arrived, a technician told me that Phil had left a message that he was meeting with an operative at the hanger and he had asked me to join him there.

"You can take one of the carts,"the tech told me, pointing towards the vehicles used to get around the large complex.

"Okay," I replied, biting my lip as he turned away.

I stood staring at the cart.

"Problem, Agent Hill?" a deep voice intoned behind me.

Turning, I found Director Fury staring at me. His eyebrow lifted as he took in my dress, but he said nothing more.

Actually, there were a couple of problems, but I wasn't going to admit it to him. He might change his mind about letting me get back to work.

"No, sir," I assured him.

His gaze shifted from me to the cart I had been eying.

"You're authorized to use one if you need to," he told me.

"Good to know."

I continued to consider.

"But you haven't been cleared to drive yet, have you?" he finally puzzled out.

Not only had I not been cleared to drive, I hadn't even thought about it. I wondered if I'd even remember what to do behind the wheel of a car.

When I shook my head, he pulled out his phone and sent off a text. "I'll have my assistant get you set up with the instructor for a private refresher course in the next couple of days." Once he received confirmation, he slid into the driver's seat of one of the vehicles and started the engine.

"Where to?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to protest, but was stopped by his glare. He waited and I finally slid into the seat next to him.

"I need to meet Coulson at..."

Where was it again? I struggled to remember, getting even more flustered as I considered that my boss was the one waiting for my answer. I looked over at him, expecting a look of impatience. Instead, he simply watched me, waiting for my response.

"Deep breathe," he instructed me softly. "Relax. Close your eyes."

I did so.

"Where's Phil?"

"At the...flying place," I finally managed to say.

He nodded and put the cart in gear. "Then we'll head to the hanger."

"And I have no idea where that is,"I reluctantly admitted.

He held out his hand. "Phone," he demanded.

Grabbing it out of my purse, I put in my password and handed it to him. Shifting his gaze to the small screen, he started typing swiftly as the cart careened across the compound. I swallowed a gasp. He looked up with a slight smile.

"Something to say?" he asked.

He was wondering if I would dare comment on his driving.

"Does this skirt make my butt look big?"

His laugh barked and he handed me back my phone. "You should be able to access detailed maps of any of our facilities. Make sure you encrypt it."

I nodded, already in the process of doing so.

"Are you going to answer my question?" I asked.

"Absolutely not."

"Is that the answer to the first question or the second?" I probed.

"Look. Here we are at the flying place," he commented, pulling in to the hangar.

Phil gave me a puzzled look as he crossed over to help me alight.

"We can't have her driving until she's cleared to," Fury explained.

"Ah," Coulson responded, understanding dawning.

"My secretary will be contacting you with the details when he has everything set up," Fury continued, turning to face me.

"Thank you, sir," I acknowledged, nodding at Clint who had crossed the floor to join us.

"And you might ask these two about that question I didn't have time to answer for you."

"You mean, the one that you wouldn't answer?" I corrected.

"I didn't get where I am by being stupid," he replied.

"What question was that?" Phil asked curiously.

"She wants to know if that outfit makes her butt looks big," Fury called as he drove away.

Phil's eyes went large as Clint ducked his head and covered his mouth.

"Say nothing, sir," he warned quietly.

"I shouldn't say 'no'?" the other man asked.

"It's a trap," the archer warned. "If you say 'no, it doesn't,' then they ask you what they wore that did."

I allowed my eyes to narrow as I watched them.

"So?" I asked dangerously.

"You look great," Phil finally commented tentatively.

"As opposed to how I normally look?"

He turned frantically to look at the other man.

"I told you to say nothing," Barton reminded him.

Finally, I decided to let them off the hook and grinned. "Hopefully, better than I have in quite a while," I said.

"Is it okay to agree?" Phil asked Clint softly.

He studied me. "I think so," the other man conceded.

XXXXXXXXX

"How much does she know about what you do?" I asked on the ride in.

"She's not level 7, so not a whole lot," he said with a sigh. "She knows that I carry at all times and that I can't talk about what I do. She suspects I work for one of the alphabet agencies, but she doesn't know which one. She knows there's danger and travel involved and that sometimes I'll be incommunicado for extended periods."

I nodded. I know it was due to regulations, but it still gave me a certain satisfaction to know that there was a part of him shared with me, but not with her.

The restaurant he had chosen was a nice, casual place. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. A woman had turned to look when we walked in and rose, smiling brightly when she recognized Phil. With a matching smile, he crossed to meet her.

She was stunning. Tall and slender, her straight, ash blonde hair fell just past her shoulders in a stylish blunt cut. Light make up accentuated her high cheekbones and large brown eyes. The charcoal gray business suit did nothing to diminish her femininity, a rose colored camisole further softening the tailored blazer. We probably would have been eye to eye except for the advantage of the three inch heels she wore.

After a warm greeting, Phil made introductions and we took our seats. We gave our drink orders and conversation turned to topics such as their first meeting, the weather and current goings on in the world. I mostly listened. Of late, my focus had been quite narrowly on my recovery and I realized that I was sadly uninformed on current events.

I would have to rectify that.

Conversation continued to swirl around me and I found myself tensing up, hyper aware of the noises and motions around me. My nerves buzzed as the waiter stepped close, placing my drink in front of me and a dull roar filled my ears. A sudden flash of sunlight flashing off the windshield of a passing car had me suddenly gasping for air.

"Maria?" a voice called. I couldn't answer.

This time, a hand touched my shoulder at the same time and I turned to find Phil's concerned gaze fixed on my face. "Are you okay?"

I met his eyes, taking another deep breath and the roar faded as I felt my heart rate evening out. Nodding, I finally found my voice.

"Fine," I managed to tell him. "Just fine." Embarrassed, I looked around the table. "Sorry about that."

Phil gently rubbed my arm. "No, Maria. I'm sorry. This is the first time you've actually been out, isn't it? I should have realized it might be a bit overwhelming."

"It's okay," I assured him.

He offered me my water glass and I started to reach for it, then realized that both hands were clenched into tight fists. Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus on relaxing the tense muscles. After a few moments, the fingers on my left hand uncurled and I reached for the glass, taking a grateful sip.

Across the table, Sarah watched me curiously.

"I had a pretty severe head injury several months ago," I explained simply. She really didn't need more detail than that.

Her eyes went wide. "That was you?"

I nodded. I was aware of cramping in my right hand as my fingers still refused to relax. Clint reached over, grasping it in his own and starting to slowly rub taut muscles.

"That wasn't too long after Phil and I started dating," she continued, reaching over to rest her hand atop his. He smiled at her and she continued. "We were at dinner and he got a call, went really pale, and dashed out without another word."

She glanced at him again. "Which I understand I'm going to have to get used to," she commented.

When he smiled apologetically, she turned her attention back to me. "He called me a few hours later to tell me that he had been informed that his best friend had been seriously injured and wasn't expected to survive. He was on his way to the medical facility."

I looked at him. "I didn't know you came over there."

"I met you in Germany and flew back with you," he confirmed.

Even though it was months after the fact, the knowledge gave me a warm feeling.

"Thanks."

He shrugged. "I promised I'd be there for you."

I heard Clint hiss as he finally pried my fist opened. Even though I kept my nails short, the pressure had been enough to cut into my palm, leaving a smear of blood coating my hand. He dipped a napkin in his water glass and started dabbing at it.

Excusing myself, I headed to the ladies room to clean up and collect myself. As I held my hand under the cool running water, I studied myself in the mirror. The neurologist has warned me of the possibility of aftereffects of the injury, including PTSD symptoms such as panic attacks.

I had waved off his warnings, figuring I was too strong for that even though the doctor had told me that it had nothing to do with strength or toughness.

Even though I thought I could count on Phil and Clint to keep quiet about what had just happened, I realized I would have to tell my doctor and the director. I figured Fury needed to be aware of all the issues I was dealing with so he could decide if I was really ready for the position he had for me.

The bathroom door opened slowly and Sarah poked her head in.

"Everything okay?" she queried.

"Everything's fine," I replied, falling back on my standard answer.

While I turned off the water, she handed me a paper towel.

"Really," I reiterated. "I'm fine. I'm sorry my overprotective friends sent you in here after me."

"They didn't send me, they just sat there looking worried. They're concerned about you," she told me with a speculative look as she watched me dry the cuts.

"Phil and Clint are really good friends."

"Just friends?"

I saw a trace of insecurity on her face.

"Just friends," I assured. "Phil and I met when I was just barely a teenager. I was in a really bad place. He decided I needed a big brother, stepped up for me, took me under his wing. Made me feel like I mattered. For the first time in my life, I felt like family was a good thing and that I had some."

"And Clint?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"Again, just a friend."

"Are you sure he agrees with that?"

"I'm sure," I told her. "We actually had that discussion recently. We've both had too many romantic relationships that have come and gone, but not so much in the way of friends."

I hoped I could explain to her properly.

"Phil is a really special person. He has a way about him of making people comfortable. He cares about people, but mostly in a general kind of way. He keeps them at arms length. He's upset if something happens to someone, but he will put it behind him and go on. There are just a very few people, though, that he lets get really close."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"I don't know why, but somehow, he decided that I was worth reaching out to. I was rude and difficult and had tall, thick walls around myself. Somehow, I got through that. He made me important to him and that made him important to me."

As she continued watching me, I searched for the words. I wasn't used to talking about personal things, but I wanted to be sure that Sarah realized what a special man she had.

"There aren't a whole lot of people that he lets in, but those of us who are look out for him and for each other, just because of him. When Clint first met me, I was in a coma. He didn't know anything about me except that I was important to Phil. And even though we've only known each other for a few months, we will watch out for each other because that's a way to protect Phil from being hurt."

"Your own little family," she commented.

Little and odd, I thought. Phil. Myself. Clint.

Fury, I realized. I didn't know the history between them, but I sensed the connection between the two men. A connection that had extended to include me. The man was intimidating, There was no denying that. Back in my days in the development program, more than one student had frozen upon noticing him in the observation area. Not entirely surprising, since many an experienced agent still had a similar reaction.

Even though he hadn't any particular softening towards me, no lessening of intensity, I had never been frightened of him. When his anger had been unleashed in my direction, it was matched by my own, because I knew that I had fallen short.

And Natasha. Not yet one of us, but she would be. Phil had balked at my suggestion that he manage her future in SHIELD, but I could tell that he had been considering the idea over the last few days. I had no doubt that he would not only take her on, but take her in as well. In spite of her defiant exterior, I sensed in her the same brokenness I knew I had felt.

My attention went to the woman watching me.

"Yeah," I agreed, "Our own odd little family."

"So, this is my warning not hurt him?" she asked with a small smile.

I continued to study her. I still wasn't getting a good read on her, but I trusted Phil's judgment and he was serious about her. I would have to rely on that.

"It is," I told her. "It's also a promise. As long as you're good to him, you'll have us looking out for you as well."

I like to think that we had lived up to that promise. That I had lived up to that.

I rested my hand over the new life growing inside me. Now, I was the one who had hurt him. Or would hurt him when I told him the truth.

Everyone I cared about would hate me, but no one more than I hated myself.

And another chapter wrapped. Thank you for reading. I sincerely hope it was worth the wait. I will try to be more timely in updating, but, as I have commented before, this tale is being a bit challenging and I would prefer to wait until I have a part I'm satisfied with before posting. Review and I'll love you forever. :)

You're the sausage in my breakfast burrito!