December 21, 2014

He goes running. It clears his head, focuses his mind. He actually likes running for more reasons than the fact that he damn well can now and because his physical fitness can very easily be the difference between life and death. He slows as he hits Bethesda fountain, catching his breath, hands on his hips and facing what has him twisted in knots.

Maria Hill does not panic. But it's the only word he can come up with to describe what the hell happened yesterday morning. He can still remember the vice-like grip of her arms, the racing of her pulse. He has no idea what it was, what had snuck up on her so painfully fast and hard it had left such a strong, resilient woman shaking.

He wants to brush it off, maybe as a one-time thing, for his own good. He hates the idea of the same thing happening when he can't be there, when he can't get to her. And yes, Maria doesn't need anyone there, but God he hates the thought of her going through one of those alone. He wants to be there for her, even when she's falling apart, and it bothers him to know it won't always be possible.

No answers come to him on his run home, and none come to him in the shower. So he goes to the one place he knows he can get them.

"Steve," Maria greets when she pulls open the door. "Did we have plans?"

They didn't. Maybe they should have. Maybe he should have ambushed her and- No. Because the last time he ambushed her she'd called for a day off and he's not sure he could deal with another day of that. Not right now. Not with this.

"We need to talk."

She doesn't wince, but he sees the shift in her micro-expressions. He's looking for it, the trepidation and fear. Still, she steps back. "Come in."

Because never let it be said she doesn't face her problems head-on.

He sheds his coat and hangs it, finds he has to wipe his palms on his pants. He isn't sure how to broach the subject, how to bring up the fact that she'd had a panic attack in his arms, and is that a thing she suffers from regularly? What about – "What happened yesterday?"

She tilts her head to look at him, a hand on her tablet, but her attention wholly on him. "Nothing."

"It wasn't nothing," he snaps back because he is freaking out, okay? He's a little worried and maybe panicking because Maria does not do that kind of thing. She just doesn't. "I've never seen you like that."

He only sees it because he's looking for it, embarrassment and nerves and disappointment in herself. "I wasn't supposed to."

Maria sighs, taps on the tablet a few times before she pushes it away and faces him fully. "Of course not. Especially not since it's freaking you out."

"Freaking me out? I wasn't the one shaking like a leaf!"

"Don't be dramatic," she murmurs, everything about her broadcasting calm.

He forces himself to breathe, forces himself to banish the images of her terrified face above him. "Maria-"

"I don't know what happened," she admits finally. "I was fine one minute and the next I was… overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed."

She watches him for moment, taps her fingers on the table. "This is easy," she says finally, quietly. "This is the holidays. This isn't every day. It's a pocket of time where everything is always a little bit happier, a little bit easier. So what happens when we move into every day? What happens when the holidays are over?"

"Nothing," he answers automatically. It's not a question to him, what comes next. They come next, her and him, together, trying to muddle through life despite her job and his, the way the world feels like it's constantly falling apart and the way they're both driven to try and put it back together again.

"Steve-"

"Nothing changes," he presses. "You and me, making this work, that doesn't change."

He doesn't want it to change.

"It's already changed," she points out. "You're here, freaking out because…" She waves her hand dismissively because she hates admitting weakness and they both know that's at the core of this. Her whatever-it-was and his need to comfort, to care. "And if this is going to be a problem…" She shakes her head.

His breath catches. He doesn't like that implication, not one bit. He doesn't understand, really.

"If you're freaking out now, what are you going to do when you're not here?" she says after another beat. "What happens when you go chasing after Bucky again? When you're away for weeks and months at a time?"

Two emotions war within him, the idea that she thinks they can't withstand the distance and her complete and absolute certainty that he will go after Bucky again. He likes the latter because it shows how much she understands the loyalty, how much it means to him. He hates the former because he feels like she doesn't understand how much she means.

Right up until she speaks again, "I know you. Steve. I don't want you feeling guilty because you think you can't be here. I want you, but I need you to understand that I… I don't need you."

He tries to see what she's saying, tries to battle through the fog of leaving her alone and lonely when she could need him. "You needed me yesterday."

"And you were there. Exactly where I wanted you." He catches the very careful wording, the exact change despite the subtle agreement. She sighs. "And when you're not, I'll be okay too."

"I know that," he says, because he does. Maria is no wilting flower, she is no weakling. She is strong and fierce and good God, exactly his type.

She reaches for him and he's surprised to find that it's exactly what he needs. She drops her head for a moment, even as she squeezes his hands. "You don't get to choose what I need," she tells him. "You don't get to pick whether or not you're giving me everything. That's not your responsibility. That's mine."

"And if you don't tell me?" Because he can read her, he speaks fluent Maria, but he isn't perfect, nor is he naïve enough to think he won't screw up, that she won't screw up.

Her smile is this weird twisted thing, amusement and self-deprecation. "Then that's my responsibility too, isn't it."

He doesn't like that, doesn't like the implication in it either. He knows better than to ask her not to keep secrets, than to ask that they take some sort of vow of honesty. He can't do that to her. But he also abhors the idea that she could lie to him about how she's feeling, about whether or not he can do something for her. Because that's his job isn't it? Both as her friend and as something more.

"I'm a big girl," she says, this time much more amused than self-deprecating. "I appreciate you being here for me, more than you know, but I've been taking care of myself for a very long time. I'm not going to stop just because…"

Because of this.

Because of them.

He blows out a breath, forces himself to stop and think, pulls her into him in the meantime. She comes, probably because she knows he needs it. Maria to a tee.

"It's not a bad thing to lean on someone else sometimes."

The tension seeps back into her shoulders, but he doesn't let her go. If anything, he holds her tighter.

"Your independence is admirable, Maria. I like your independence. I like how strong you are, how solid. How you don't need anyone."

She relaxes. Marginally.

"But I can't help that I want to support you too, to give you something to lean against sometimes. That's who I am. You knew that. You know that."

She nods, her forehead rubbing against his shoulder.

He forces himself to take another breath, relaxes just a little more when she lets him tangle his hand in her hair, when she lets him cup her skull. He tightens his hold, because the next words aren't ones she's going to want to hear. "Sometimes, Maria, you're too independent."

Sure enough, her entire body goes hard. He rubs his fingertips against her hip.

"I don't rely on anyone else. I will never rely on anyone else," she says into his shoulder, her nails digging into his back. He barely flinches.

"That's not what I'm asking you to do," he promises. It's not. He's just… not wholly sure how to explain it. He doesn't want her to be less independent. He wants her to be open to sharing the burden, the weight she so often carries on her shoulders. "I don't want you to feel like less because you want to lean on someone else."

That brings her head up, confusion and something stronger there. "And if I don't?"

He blows out a breath, has to close his eyes. They're saying too much, he knows, too many things she is so far from ready for. "Then I don't know," he admits. "It's hard to stay where you're not wanted."

Her silence is more than enough to make him loosen his grip, to step back. Literally and metaphorically. Nothing's getting solved here, not when he's all mixed up. Not when she seems so hell bent on going on like they were.

Her hands are at her sides, her expression brittle. "You promised you wouldn't make me change."

His shoulders slump. "I'm not asking you to change. I'm asking you to work with me, to find something that works for both of us. If you can't do that, Maria…"

He leaves the ending hanging, both because he doesn't want to say the words and because he's not sure he can. What he feels for Maria goes beyond caring, beyond affection, but he's not enough of a martyr to keep working when he's the one doing all of the pushing.

"I want more for us. You knew that. But I don't want to fight you every step of the way. I want you to want this, to want us."

To want me.

Because he's not sure he believes she does anymore.

And so he leaves her there, with everything hanging between them and nothing solved.

Maybe another run's in order.

This took literally forever. And I'm so endlessly sorry for that. Combination of Maria and Steve not cooperating (as I'm sure some of you figured out half way through this chapter) and RL kicking my butt.

To those of you still with me, I appreciate it whole-heartedly. Thank you.