This is Option 3 of the alternative endings for the story Her Dirty Little Secret.
It features a sexual assault (though not rape) and character death.
The good guys 'win' in this ending. Maria is a BAMF.
Over My Dead Body
A HYDRA facility, New York
"Are you ready to comply?"
A pause. "Yes, sir. I am happy to comply," Crossbones replied. Bakshi leaned in and pressed a photograph into his hands.
"We need to capture this woman. She has too much information locked in her head, we need to get her under control so we can find out what Fury was doing."
Crossbones looked down at the photograph. Blue eyes stared back at him from a pale face. "Who is she, sir?"
"Her name is Maria Hill. She works at Avengers Tower and she likes to run in Central Park in the early mornings…"
Crossbones laughed. "I'm just kidding you, sir. I know who she is, all too well, of course."
"I'm glad, Rumlow, I thought for a moment there you might have been losing your marbles." Bakshi smiled at HYDRA's favourite attack dog.
"May I ask if there are plans to turn her, sir, or just drain her of everything she knows?" Rumlow's dark eyes were eager.
"Why do you ask?" Bakshi leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together thoughtfully.
"You know about my relationship with her, sir?"
"I know you were bedding her for years but she wasn't one for favouritism or pillow talk. Still, it gave you useful access to her office. Were you fond of her, Rumlow?"
"I wasn't in love with her, no, sir, but she was one hell of a fuck." Rumlow licked his scarred lips. "I – should like to assist in her interrogation. In breaking her. And – if the organisation had no use for her afterwards…"
"I'll speak to Whitehall and von Strucker, Rumlow. You've been truly dedicated to the cause, you've earned a reward." The man was one hell of a soldier, and he'd never once complained about the burns that had damaged his once-good looks. Having Crossbones willingly working for HYDRA even made up for the loss of the Winter Soldier.
"I wouldn't ordinarily ask, sir, but – just once, just once to show Maria what I really wanted to do to her all that time…" Rumlow licked his lips again.
Bakshi suppressed a shudder. Crossbones was a butcher of the most brutal kind. He enjoyed his work. Bakshi almost felt sorry for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s former Deputy Director.
Almost.
Thank fuck I let Stark put that tracker in me, was Maria's first coherent thought as she began to come round. She'd been paranoid about HYDRA somehow cracking Stark's codes and hunting her down, but in the end he'd convinced her that they'd find her anyway if they looked hard enough, and if they got to her the Avengers needed to be able to get her back. It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
Well, they really had been out to get her, apparently. The last thing she'd seen was a man looming over her, the black and white skinsuit he'd been wearing fading out of the darkness as she took her early morning run. "Hail HYDRA," a low voice had murmured before a puff of mist hit her in the face and she remembered no more.
"Good; you are awake," a man's unaccented voice said close by, and she flinched as rough hands suddenly grabbed her arms and legs. Her eyes snapped open and she reacted instantly, trying to fight back, but there were four black-clad commandoes who had a grip on her, securing her limbs to a large frame with tightly buckled straps. She screamed abuse at them, fighting right up until the moment they gripped her head and a suited man wearing glasses connected some thin, sharp hooks to the inside of her eyelids.
From then on, she couldn't move without suffering acute agony. Maria had no choice but to hold as still as she could as the straps holding her to the frame were tightened, as images started to flicker and swirl on the screen in front of her and the suit started talking, telling her in a gentle voice that compliance would be rewarded.
"Fuck you," she snarled, concentrating on keeping her eyes unfocussed.
"Oh, not me, Ms Hill. I'm not going to touch you. We have someone else who's earned that privilege." The suit gestured, and a man stepped into Maria's peripheral vision.
Her focus sharpened. She had just enough movement in her eyeballs to take a good look. It was the big guy in the black and white skinsuit who'd intercepted her run, crossed white lines on his chest and a grinning death's head on his face mask. He reached up and peeled off the mask, and if she could have moved, she would have flung herself backwards, because despite shiny burn marks disfiguring his once-handsome face, it was still recognisably Brock Rumlow.
"No," Maria barely recognised her own voice. Always so cool and calm, her voice was hoarse with rage as she yelled at him. "No! You fucking traitorous bastard, I'll kill you for this!"
Rumlow smiled, pacing closer. "Oh, no, I don't think so, Maria. By the time we're done here, you'll be begging me for it."
"Never," she spat at him, feeling bile begin to rise in her throat as he drew a knife, holding it up so that she could see it. It glinted wickedly, brutally sharp, and then she felt cold metal at her throat as he began tracing the knife down her skin. She twitched, trying to jerk herself forward, hoping he'd nick an artery. She'd rather die than be brainwashed into being Rumlow's toy.
The knife left her throat, and a moment later Maria felt it between her breasts and realised he was cutting her clothes off. "Don't you dare fucking touch me!"
Rumlow laughed. "But you always liked it so much. Don't you remember, Maria? Don't you remember begging me to touch you, fuck you, do it harder?"
"We all make stupid mistakes sometimes," Maria gritted out, feeling the metal slide against her skin as he cut the rest of her clothes away, until she stood naked and restrained before him.
Rumlow looked momentarily infuriated, and then he sheathed the knife and moved around behind her. Maria could guess what was coming next; she clenched her teeth hard, willing herself not to respond. And sure enough his big hands curved up over her breasts, flicking expertly at her nipples, rolling them between finger and thumb as he pressed up against her back, licking and nipping at her neck.
"Get off me, you pervert," she snarled. "What, you get off on having your women tied up? Bet it's the only way you can get anyone to fuck you now you've got scars on your face, you sick fucker."
He laughed. "Oh, you'd be wrong about that. I earned these scars in dedication to the cause. They're better than a Medal of Honor in HYDRA circles." He was grinding against her ass, those clever, callused fingers doing their job. Maria bit her tongue, furious that her body apparently remembered his touch, because her nipples were peaking, tendrils of desire beginning to course through her.
"That's it," Rumlow whispered against her neck, nipping her earlobe lightly. "That's what you like, isn't it, Maria?"
"Get your filthy traitorous hands off me, Rumlow," she snapped.
"I don't think so." One of those hands wandered leisurely downwards, tracing lightly around her navel before slipping between her legs. "You wet for me yet, Maria?"
"I am going to kill you for this." She enunciated each word clearly. She'd never been so angry in her life, mostly at herself, for having been stupid enough to ever let this man touch her. Get to her. She'd actually mourned when she found out he was a traitor: apparently there was still some girlish portion of her heart that believed in true love and happily ever after. She'd just picked absolutely the wrong man to fantasise about having that happy ending with.
He laughed. "Such a fighter. You'd have been one hell of a man, Maria, but you're not a man, you're a woman, and you have an inherent weakness." One rough finger shoved suddenly inside her, and she let out a snarl of rage. "You were made to be possessed, to be dominated by a man."
In another time, another place, the familiar touch of his hand might have been arousing. But here and now, the pure, distilled rage coursing through Maria meant the burgeoning desire was snuffed out as quickly as throwing a bucket of ice over a candle flame.
"Over my dead body."
He probed harder with his fingers, frowning at her dryness.
"Rumlow, it's not working," the suited man was back. "She's showing increased pulse and blood pressure, but her vital symptoms are consistent with anger, not desire. Stop."
He let go, his face filled with anger and confusion. "You loved me," he said to Maria, almost plaintively.
"I used you," she said back coldly, "much like a vibrator. Only cheaper, since I didn't have to buy batteries."
Rage suffused his face, and he drew his fist back to strike her. The suit reached to stop him, but who knew what would have happened next – if a massive explosion hadn't suddenly shaken the building.
"We're under attack!" the suit said.
"What the hell?" Rumlow moved away to a computer terminal just on the edge of Maria's vision, typed quickly. "Fuck – it's the Avengers!"
Maria smiled.
"But we scanned her for tracking devices!" the suited man looked incredulous.
"Do you really think you're smarter than Tony Stark?" Maria scoffed.
Rumlow and the suit looked at each other.
"I'm leaving," the suit said after a moment. Scooped a bag off a desk and headed for the door. "And if I was you, Rumlow, I'd bug out too. Leave her alive and maybe they won't come after you." The door closed behind him.
For a moment Brock looked like he was wavering.
"Run," Maria said, hoping to get his cowardice to win out. "You'll spend the rest of your miserable life looking over your shoulder watching for me coming to kill you, but at least you'll have a life. For as long as you can keep running, anyway."
He glared at her for a moment before grabbing the face mask he'd discarded and running for the door.
He wasn't quick enough. The door flew inward off its hinges, destroyed by a blow no ordinary human could have delivered, and Steve's tall figure loomed in the doorway.
He hadn't even bothered to change out of his running clothes before coming after her, Maria saw. His shield was on his arm as he strode forward, catching an attempted blow from Rumlow and hurling him across the room to smash, dazed, into the far wall.
Natasha came in behind Steve, sucked in one quick breath at the sight of Maria and darted over to her, quickly and gently removing the hooks from her eyelids, slashing the straps binding her to the frame.
Steve averted his eyes from Maria's nude body, looking in disgust at the shredded scraps of her clothing on the floor. He pulled off his T-shirt and offered it. Yes, it was sweaty, but at least it would cover her, and it would be big enough to drape her like a dress.
Maria appreciated the offer. But she had something to do first. She reached down and took the gun from Natasha's thigh holster, drawing a vicious grin from the other woman. Striding across the room, uncaring of her nakedness, she clicked off the safety and levelled the weapon.
Dazed, Brock looked up at her. "Maria," he said gruffly.
She said nothing. Just pulled the trigger, one, two, three, four times. And then she turned, walked back across the room and accepted Steve's offered shirt.
"Thank you. Let's go." She pulled the shirt over her head, plucked a spare clip from Natasha's belt and held it in her left hand. "I'm done with this place."
Steve stared in awe as Maria strode out through the shattered doorway, gun at the ready. "Wow. You know, she really reminds me of someone."
Natasha grinned as Steve followed Maria. "Yes. I've heard about your weakness for badass brunettes."
Obviously I've been trying to set Steve up with entirely the wrong kind of woman…