Surprise! I said there would be another chapter today and here it is! I wasn't sure how this one would be received, so I really appreciate the feedback.
LostintheDarkEyesandSoul: Thank you so much. I just had this image of big, bad Nick meeting Maria as a kid and taking a role in her life. I'm always glad to see a new reader favoriting, following, and reviewing my stories. Just be aware: I'm not usually this quick to update.
Qweb: Of course, more Hill. What else would you expect from me? ;)
keamlkntl: Your words are lovely. Thanks for the review.
Again, not my property, not connected to any other stories I'm working on. Here's the next bit. I hope you enjoy.
Back at the local SHIELD offices, he filled out his paperwork, wondering why that seemed to take longer than the mission itself. Once that was completed, he logged onto the computer system and did a little research, then took to the hallways.
Between his reputation and his intimidating appearance, he caused a lot of nervousness, studying the faces of those he passed and looking through opened doors at employees as work at their desks. He wasn't sure exactly who he was looking for, but figured he would know them when he found them.
Not having had any luck, he stopped in a break room to refresh his coffee. The man standing at the machine looked up at him and smiled, then held the pot out.
"Need a warm up?"
"Please," Nick replied, holding out his cup as he studied the other man.
He was quite average in appearance. Average height and weight. Brown eyes, brown hair, starting to recede slightly. He was dressed like 90 percent of the men in the building in a dark suit, light shirt, and nondescript tie.
He filled Nick's cup, showing no sign of nervousness at the man's probing gaze.
"Phil Coulson," he introduced himself.
"Fury."
"You have the look of a man on a mission, Fury. Something I can help you with?" he asked.
"Maybe," Nick commented, eying the other man. "You based here in Chicago?"
Phil nodded. "Primarily. I do some traveling, but I'm here on a pretty regular basis."
When the dark skinned man hesitated, he continued. "If I can't help you, I can probably point you towards someone who can."
Nick made his decision. "Got a few minutes?" he asked, motioning towards the table.
In response, Phil took a seat. The other man settled across from him.
"I was on a job last night and I met someone."
"Oh?" Coulson's brows rose slightly.
"A girl."
"Oh." He looked disappointed.
"Not like that. I really mean a girl. She's probably about 8 years old." He proceeded to tell Phil about his meeting the night before with Maria.
"I'd just like for someone to keep an eye on her situation. Maybe check in on her every week or two," Nick concluded, looking at the other man.
"Did you think about involving CPS?"
"I mentioned them," Nick told him, "and she took off on me. Apparently, they've been out a time or two and haven't done anything. I figure the folks here are pretty much like those back where I grew up. Overworked, underpaid. Stretched way too thin."
Phil nodded agreement. "If they remove a kid, they're accused of overreacting, if they don't, they're accused of not doing their job."
"I told her that I'd keep an eye on things and only call them in if needed. Problem is, I'm not around enough to monitor her like I'd like to."
Coulson eyed him. "This kid really got to you."
"Don't know that I'd say that, exactly," Nick replied with a shrug.
Phil's mouth twitched.
"Okay. Maybe. Just a little." He sat back in the chair. "I asked her why she was willing to fight three boys, even though the smallest of them was still bigger than her. You know what she said?"
"What did she say?"
Nick smiled at the memory. "She said that she doesn't like bullies."
Phil laughed out loud. "Sounds like a future SHIELD agent."
"Maybe. Anyway. I was thinking that someone here could keep an eye on her situation. Call CPS or even just take her away if she's in danger. I've set up a bank account for someone to make sure she has what she needs. School supplies. Proper clothing. Pay for her lunches at school if needed." He shrugged again. "I don't know. Whatever kind of things a kid that age needs. Maybe a few things she just might want. I just liked her spirit and think she deserves a bit of a break."
Phil nodded. "Sounds good. Just give me the information and I'll take care of your kid."
Nick looked at him. "You sure? You said you travel some."
"I do, but I think I know a couple of people who I can count on to help me out with this. One of them is a woman, so she might be helpful when it comes to knowing what a little girl might need."
After several more moments of study, Nick grabbed some paper and a pen. He wrote out the information he had on the girl as well as his own contact information.
"Keep me updated on what's going on with her, if you don't mind. And let me know if you need more funds or it there's anything I need to do," he told the other man.
"You got it, Fury," Phil nodded, tucking the note it his breast pocket.
XXXXXXXXXX
It was a couple of days later before Maria Hill began to discover how much that chance encounter would change her life. While classmates were talking and playing around before class started, she took her seat and lifted the lid of her desk to get a pencil for the morning math drill.
She reached in, then froze.
Lowered the top and looked around.
No one seemed to be paying attention to her.
She considered. Someone had taken the battered, duct-taped tissue box her father had filled with stubby pencils and broken crayons. She peeked in again. It had been replace with a bright blue plastic box with a red, white, and blue design on it.
'A shield of some sort, maybe, with a star in the middle?" she thought.
Next to it was a brand new box of crayons. Not one of the little 8 count boxes either,. It was one of the big ones, with a built in sharpener.
Clearly, someone had put it in her desk. They would probably accuse her of stealing it. Looking around again, she pulled the box close. Maybe there was a name inside it and she could slip it back in their desk without being seen.
Easing it opened, she took a moment to admire the dozen or so freshly sharpened pencils it held, their erasers unmarked, then turned her attention to the sticker inside the box.
Property of Maria Hill
Ms Aldrin's 3rd Grade Class
Lincoln Elementary
Why was her name on there?
Smiling slightly, she made a closer study of the items in the box. In addition to the pencils, there was a package of colored pencils, a couple of pink erasers, several of the kind that go on the end of the pencils, a couple of glue sticks, and a pair of scissors.
And a round, metal button.
Nick.
"I need everyone in their seats and ready to math," Ms Aldrin called, clapping her hands together to get the attention of her third grade class.
Maria grabbed one of the pencils and settled back in her seat.
It was going to be a good day.
The next surprise came at lunchtime. When the class arrived in the lunchroom, those who brought their lunches went to the table while the others moved through the line to get their trays. Brown bag in hand, Maria took her seat at the table. She placed her sandwich on a napkin while she carefully folded the paper bag and plastic sandwich bag. They would need to be reused for as long as they lasted.
While the others at the table were examining their lunches, some with delight, some with groans, Maria knew exactly what was in hers.
The same thing it was every day.
Every morning, she got two pieces of bread from the loaf. Sometimes, her dad was there watching her, but even when he wasn't she knew exactly what was allowed. While she smeared one piece with just enough peanut butter to cover it, then folded it in half, the other piece went into the toaster.
When her dad was in a particularly foul mood, he might turn the dial all the way to 'dark' setting, resulting in hard, black toast. The one time she had protested, he had grabbed her arm and held it against the hot metal.
After that, she had learned to quietly choke down the dry toast each morning, no matter how burned it might be.
"Can't have those interfering school people accusing me of not giving my kid breakfast," he grumbled.
She felt someone staring at her and looked up to meet her teacher's gaze. She was standing next to one of the cafeteria workers and both were staring at Maria. The other woman pointed to something on a piece of paper, then handed a tray to Ms Aldrin. After a few more moments of discussion, the teacher walked over to the table and set the tray down in front of the girl.
Maria looked at her, confused.
"What's that for?"
"For you."
"I brought my own lunch," she said, pointing at her sandwich.
"I know," the teacher told her, "but the lady in charge of the cafeteria said that her records show that your lunch has been paid for."
The girl studied the tray. A small piece of chicken, some rice, mixed vegetables, a bowl of sliced peaches, and a carton of milk. It looked much more appetizing than what she had pulled from her brown paper bag.
"For the rest of the year," the woman finished. Maria's eyes went wide. "Breakfasts, too."
After carefully wrapping her sandwich in a napkin, she dug into the meal, cleaning every morsel from the tray. She couldn't understand why some of the kids complained about cafeteria food. It was one of the best meals she had ever had.
Even if her dinners were lacking, having two decent meals a day was more than she had ever had. Her daily peanut butter sandwiches were offered to Cedric on her way home each day. It wasn't much, but he always accepted with delighted appreciation.
Several days later, she became aware of the next change. She was walking home from school. Many of her classmates boarded vans, heading off to various afterschool programs. The school sent home flyers about dance, gymnastics, music, and martial arts classes. The first ones, she had presented to her father, a hopeful look on her face.
He snorted, crumpling them up and throwing them at her.
"You think I'd waste my hard earned money on fun for a useless waste of flesh like you?"
She never gave him the papers again, but that didn't stop her from peeking longingly into the window of the martial arts studio she walked passed. Today, a man was standing outside, an impatient look on his face as he watched people passing. When he spotted her, he motioned urgently.
She approached warily.
"Maria Hill?" he asked, looking down at a clipboard he held.
She nodded.
"Come on. You need to hurry. Class is about to start." He opened the door and waited.
"I'm not in a class," she told him.
He looked at his clipboard again.
"Yes, you are. Your Uncle Nick registered you today. You're a late enrollment, so you'll be behind, but the teacher was assured that you're a quick study and should catch up in no time." When she hesitated, he tapped at his clipboard. "You still need to get changed. Your uniform is in your locker. Carleen can show you the way," he told her, pointing to a woman stretching on one of the mats.
After considering a moment longer, she shrugged and entered the building. It was probably a mistake, but why not enjoy it while it lasted. She watched and listened attentively when Carleen showed her the facilities, explaining that classes met twice weekly before guiding her to a locker where she could store her belongings, then helping her don her uniform.
The class went quickly and Maria found herself enjoying the time spent there. In the weeks that followed, she indeed worked hard and quickly mastered the skills to bring her to the same level as her classmates and even surpass some.
The students were all excited when the teacher announced they would have belt testing and presentations, though Maria's joy dimmed when they were told to invite parents and family members to attend the ceremony.
When the day came, her classmates were excitedly waving to people in the audience, and posing for pictures. Maria didn't bother even looking, knowing that there would be no one there for her.
When her turn came, there was a smattering of polite applause from the crowd as she took her position. The teacher put her through her paces and she threw herself completely into each and every step. When he was finished, she bowed respectully. He smiled very slightly, nodding his head to express his satisfaction with her performance.
Loud applause startled her, but she managed to stop herself from reacting. Once he had tied her new belt on, she turned to face the audience, her eyes searching to the source of the claps and whistles. Her gaze finally rested on a big, dark skinned man.
Nick.
He was sitting silently, arms crossed on his chest. Next to him, two men and a woman sat. Both men wore dark suits, white shirts, and ties. One had thinning hair, the other was bald and had glasses. Both were smiling and clapping loudly. The woman sitting between them was attractive, her Asian features sporting a more subdued smile. When she noticed Maria's gaze, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The man between her and Nick looked at her in suprise, then laughed and elbowed Nick.
After holding Maria's gaze for several moments, Nick nodded. Somehow, she knew is was approval.
Next came the winter coat.
The weather turned from cool to cold and Maria's father finally pulled out her winter coat. It had been picked out of the lost and found box at his work a couple of years ago. It was torn in a coupld of places and the zipper was broken, but he deemed it good for another winter. With a hooded sweatshirt underneath it and a rope tied around the middle to keep it closed, he gave her a couple of pairs of his old socks to wear as gloves and sent her off to school.
After about a week, a door to one of the apartments off the lobby opened one morning at she was trying to get up the nerve to head out into the cold. An old woman poked her head out, glaring at the girl. A small dog yapped at her feet.
"Girl!" she snapped.
Maria looked over at her. Mrs. Crowley had lived there forever and kept an eagle eye on the goings on in the building lobby and front. Some of the kids in the neighborhood claimed that she was a witch and dared each other to knock at her door.
"Come here, girl," she motioned. "I've got something of yours."
Swallowing hard, Maria followed her into the apartment. The woman looked at her. "Your father's sending you to school dressed like that?" she asked scornfully.
"It's fine," Maria replied defensively.
"No, it's not," the woman snapped back. "Not nearly warm enough for this weather."
"The cold doesn't really bother me," the girl protested again.
Mrs. Crowley shook her head and pointed to a carboard box sitting on her coffee table.
Puzzled, Maria opened it and started pulling things out. The first item was a forest green down coat. It had a soft, fleece lining and cream colored fur around the hood. Next was a pair of soft, knitted mittens, matching scarf and hat. She looked at them longingly, but shook her head.
"I can't accept this," she told the woman.
She cackled. "You don't think this is from me, do you?"
Maria shrugged.
"Found this box at my front door last night," she explained. "Note said it was for you."
"I can't," she said again. "My dad..."
"There was also a pound of my favorite coffee and the dog food that the vet says Charley should be on," she said, looking down at the little dog. "And it's the good stuff, not the kind we can afford on my retirement funds. The note said we'd get more every month as long as we keep this for you. You stop here in the morning, leave that stuff here and wear proper winter gear to school, then stop by and trade everything back when you come home."
"But what if you're not here?"
"I'm always here, girl. It's not like I have anywhere else to go."
Before the girl could protest again, the woman started untying the rope that was holding her coat in place. "You need to hurry it up. Don't want to be late."
She finally surrendered, allowing the woman to help her get changed into the new garments.
Throughout the winter, the daily routine continued, Maria making twice daily stops at the neighbors apartment to change out her cold weather gear.
XXXXXXXXXX
While the other studernts looked forward to winter break, Maria didn't. Her dad's moods were always worse over the holidays. He drank more, slept more, and yelled more. She did her best to simply stay out of his way.
Christmas day itself was it's usual nightmare. While other children laid awake Christmas eve, waiting anxiously for Santa, she couldn't sleep because of another tradition in her home.
In the wee small early hours of the morning, her father came into her room, grabbing her arm and jerking her roughly out of bed. He drug her into the living room and threw her roughly into a chair.
"Merry freaking Christmas, you stupid little bitch," he told her with a sneer. "I can't believe I lost my wife and got stuck with you instead. She loved Christmas. I loved it when she was here. Now, I've hate it and I hate you because you took that from me."
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered.
"Sorry, Daddy," he mimicked. "Yeah, you are. Sorry and useless." He glared at her. "Get me a beer," he told her.
She jumped up and ran into the kitchen, grabbing a can from the refrigerator and hurrying back to hand it to him.
"What took you so long?" he growled, taking the can from her before backhanding her. She bit her lip, fighting not to cry as she rubbed her sore cheek. Slowly, she make her way back to the chair. She knew better than to try to go back to her room. When she had tried that a couple of years back, he had followed her, screaming at her about walking away from him. Then, he had given her one of the worst beatings ever.
This turned out to be one of the better Christmases she could remember. She watched closely, making sure to have a fesh beer for him each time he emptied one, and listened without speaking at he rambled on about how she had ruined his life.
About midday, he stumbled back to his room, returing with a bottle of harder stuff. On his way back to the couch, he grabbed her by the hair, pulling her over to him. He studied her face as she struggled not to flinch from his alcohol laden breath. With a disgusted grunt, he pushed her away, causing her to fall over the debris strewn coffee table. His bottle fell over, spilling some of the foul smelling liquid onto the floor before he could grab it up.
"Now look what you've done!" he yelled, jumping up. He stepped across the overturned table and kicked at her. He was tipsy enough not to land a full force blow on her, but still hard enough to leave a few more bruises.
"Clean this mess up," he told her, falling back into his seat.
She hurried to do so before returning quietly to her seat. Even when he passed out, she stayed where she was, only daring quick dashes to the bathroom when absolutely necessary. Finally, she allowed herself to drift off as well.
A busted lip and a half a dozen or so new bruises,. Nothing broken. Definitely a good Christmas.
By the time she returned to school, the split lip had healed and the visible bruises had faded enough to prevent uncomfortable questions. Days settled back into normal routine. The best days, of course, were the ones where she went from school to martial arts classes. She continued to make excellent progress, her focus and determination pushing her to achieve.
Winter turned to spring and the weather began to warm. One afternoon, a massive storm moved in as she was walking home, the skies opened as thunder boomed and lightening streaked the sky. She ducked into a doorway, trying to avoid the drenching. The wind, though, drove the rain in after her.
As she watched the storm, wondering what to do, a car pulled up to the curb and stopped, the driver's side window rolling down.
"Maria!" a voice called.
She recognized the man who had been sitting next to Nick at her belt ceremony.
He jumped out, umbrella in hand, and crossed over to her.
"Come on," he told her, taking her book bag and heading back to the car. He opened the back door and she jumped in. He slid back in the driver's seat and merged back into traffic.
"You okay?" he asked, looking at her in the rearview mirror.
"Just wet," she assured him. "Thanks for the lift."
"No problem. You want me to take you home?"
"No," she replied quickly. "Maybe you could just drop me...somewhere dry."
His look was curious. "Why not home?"
"I just don't like being there when it's storming."
He nodded. "Yeah. It's a little unnerving being alone when it's like this."
Actually, alone wouldn't be bad. The problem was that her dad might be and storms like this really heightened his anxiety levels.
And that anxiety usually got taken out on her.
"Something like that," she told him.
He made a quick run through a nearby drivethrough and got them each a cup of hot chocolate, then pulled into a parking garage.
"Okay if we hang out here until the storm lets up?" he asked. "You can work on your homework."
When she shrugged, he got out of the car and popped open the trunck. He climbed back in, handing her a towel and a blanket. After drying off, she pulled out her homework and went to work.
Phil pulled out his briefcase and started flipping through paperwork. He glanced back at the girl.
"Do you need any help with anything?"
"Don't think so," she told him.
"Good. I think I've probably forgotten more about math than I ever knew."
She studied him a moment. "I don't think that's possible."
He grinned at her. "Probably not, but I try to do at least one impossible thing a week." He reached back, offering her a package of cheese and crackers. "By the way, I'm Phil."
"Maria," she replied. "But I guess you know that. You're a friend of Nick, right? I saw you and another man and woman with him at my ceremony."
He nodded. "Jasper and Melinda," he told her.
"It was nice of you to all come."
"We wanted you to know that we were proud of you."
She shrugged, but looke pleased. "Nick's doing okay?" she asked.
When Phil hesitated, she looked up sharply. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"There was an explosion," he told her.
Suddenly, she opened the car door and jumped out, running down the drive. After a stunned moment, Phil jumped out, locked the doors, and took off after her. He caught her easily, kneeling down to look her in the face. He could see she was fighting tears.
"It's my fault," she told him.
"What?"
"That he's dead!"
"First off, he's not dead. He was hurt, but he's not dead. And secondly, why were you setting off bombs in a foreign country?" he asked.
"I've never even left Chicago," she told him.
"So how are you responsible for what happened to him?"
"Because I am," she replied. "I'm bad luck. My dad said so. People that do nice things for me pay for it. My mom died because she had me."
"It's not your fault, Maria. Not what happened to your mom and not what happened to Nick. He does some dangerous work, and sometimes things happen."
She studied him, not sure whether to believe him or not.
"How bad was he hurt?" she finally asked.
"Pretty bad," he admitted. "His face and chest were cut up pretty badly. He lost the vision in one eye. They may end up having to remove it. But he's tough. He survived and he's getting better."
"Really?"
"Really," he assured her.
Finally, he convinced her to return to the car where they worked in companionable silence while the storm raged on outside the garage. When it had settled, he drove her home. During the drive, he probed gently, questioning her about things at home.
She assured him that everything was fine. Her dad was working long hours, she told him, and they didn't have much interaction. He had certainly not hurt her, she answered in response to his direct question.
He wasn't entirely sure whether to believe her or not. He finally settled on giving her his phone number, having her repeat it several times until he was sure she had it memorized. She promised that she would call him any time, day or night, should she need anything.
He wasn't sure he believed that either.
After dropping her off around the corner from her building and watching her safely inside, he drove back to the office building to finish up his days work. He looked in the back seat of the car, smiling as he noticed that Maria had neatly folded the blanket and towel he had given her earlier. When he opened the door to retreive them, his smile turned to a frown as he noticed the folded piece of paper on the seat.
Had the girl forgotten some of her homework?
When he leaned in and picked it up, he laughed.
"Get well soon, Nick," it read. He studied the picture for several minutes, finally deciding that the bald, scowling figure was probably meant to portray Fury. A pirate patch covered one eye. The girl was bright and proving to be quite skilled in martial arts, but she was certainly no artist.
Nevertheless, he would make sure that Nick received the card. The man had barely survived the attack and his recovery had been in serious doubt. Nevertheless, he had carried on, completing his mission before allowing himself to be treated. Sheer determination had pulled him through. Not only was he recovering, he had earned another promotion and was considered a favorite to be taking over the directors position.
He had earned a reputation as a tough hardass, cold and completely lacking in feelings. Phil was glad to be one of the few allowed to see another side of him. He had a feeling Maria's wishes would be appreciated.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read. I would dearly love to know what you're thinking about this. Remember, lack of review will make me cry. That's not a pretty sight. Make me smile, please.
More to come.