December 11, 2014

Wednesday, to put it mildly, sucks.

It's a Wednesday that literally trumps the Chitauri attack for levels of hell. Okay, maybe that's a bit unrealistic and very drama-queen-esque but she is livid and even though she isn't a woman that tends to cry, very close to tears.

It starts with her alarm clock that chooses today of all days not to go off. She's running late by the time her body snaps her awake and barely has time to stop for coffee. Of course, New York's traffic has something against her and a jolt by her cabbie sends half of that coffee spilling down the front of her not five minutes later. To add insult to injury, she knows she pulls a run in her stocking on her way out of said cab. And that's just the forty-five minutes it had taken her to get into the office.

Then come the meetings.

She starts her day by explaining to Stark that no, he cannot turn his underground garage into a state-of-the-art Avengers training centre when Clint has a fully outfitted ranch just outside the city limits. And no, Pepper will not let him be a part of the discussions on the Middle East because his opinions so often insult the diplomats along for the ride. No, she will not vouch for him either.

She moves on from there to her scientists who are behind on all of their projects due to shareholder budget restrictions and concerns about doing good deeds around the holidays. Which means she then has to very carefully tip-toe around the shareholders' meeting in explaining why the projects they're sponsoring don't seem to be showing up when they're supposed to and no, they cannot tour the labs because there are dangerous substances and equipment down there. She remembers the Triskellion and refuses to put people who believe they have power in any proximity to weaponry.

At lunch she calls Steve, asks for a raincheck on whatever his plans were today. She really just wants to go home.

But she has an update with May on the regrowth of SHIELD – not looking good there – and with Natasha – Maria's glad to hear the redhead's alive and isn't so glad to hear that the ear Maria had very carefully asked Natasha to keep on the ground regarding Barnes hasn't heard a damn useful thing – before typing out an email to Phil about borrowing maybe Fitz or Simmons for a couple of weeks to get her scientists back on schedule.

Maria has never in her life left work on time, but when five rolls around, she's already packed up and out of there. She splurges on a cab again because she is not crowding herself into New York's pedestrian traffic when she's feeling more than a little homicidal.

She is so painfully thankful to see her apartment door.

The lights are on when she steps in, her apartment smelling like something warm and home cooked. Her heart leaps, even as she sighs.

"You're home."

She tries for a smile, she really does. She knows it falls so flat.

"Pepper texted me," he says quietly. He doesn't come any closer, doesn't try to crowd her against the door. She's surprisingly glad for it and definitely touched that he's just…

He's letting her come to him.

So she does, in part because even after a terrible day she's drawn to him and in part because she feels a little bit like maybe his presence isn't going to be the pain in the ass she'd originally expected. It's not calming, necessarily, but she finds that having him here, knowing that he'll stand there and let her rant at him if she were the type – and she can tell he wants to know, it's written all over his face – makes some of the tension leak out of her spine.

In a move she's sure most wouldn't characterize as her, she settles right against his side, forces him to make room for her. He doesn't seem to mind, just shifts easily, wraps an arm around her and presses a kiss against her head.

"I thought we could go skating today," he tells her quietly. "Rockefeller Centre or Bryant Park."

"Steve-"

"Shush."

She thinks about hitting him, even turns her face up to offer a critical look. He just knocks a kiss against the corner of her mouth.

"Then you called and Pepper texted so I thought maybe we could do something else."

"Something else?"

He shushes him again and she seriously considers asking him if he has a death wish. No one 'shushes' Maria Hill.

"I raided Stark's video collection," he tells her. "So there's spaghetti and Christmas movies. No more people, no more work – my phone's even off – just dinner and movies until you pass out."

And that, well. That sounds just the right side of perfect.

"I was just going to get takeout," she murmurs, stepping away so he can have both hands free to dish up dinner.

He chuckles. "Just say 'thank you', Maria."

She huffs, then grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt and yanks him down for a rather thorough kiss. He's grinning when her eyes finally open.

"Or that," he says. "That works too."

She rolls her eyes. "Might be the only one you get tonight, Rogers. I'm not kissing you with spaghetti breath."

She's perfectly content to lean back into the couch after dinner and, half way through The Santa Clause, to let him prove her wrong.