A Day in the Life of Maria Hill

by a-really-angry-sorceress

Deputy Director Maria Hill single-handedly runs S.H.I.E.L.D. That's a fact, not an opinion, and everyone knows it. As if Fury does much apart from stomp about with dramatic one-liners. She handles more deadly secrets everyday than most people could deal with in a lifetime. But everyone, even ice-cold, ex-assassins have a breaking point. And this has been building for a long time...

5. I Swear It's Voodoo

LET'S DO THIS! IT'S 24 PAGES SO MAKE SURE YOU'VE BEEN FOR A PEE AND HAVE A NICE DRINK AND A COMFY SEAT BECAUSE HOLY CRAP

When the world set on fire, I couldn't say I was surprised.

Maybe I should backtrack a bit.

6am rolls around, and I'm already up and doing paperwork. Believe me, I've only been up for half an hour, which is practically a lie-in for me, so I'm not really bothered. And, as a bonus, I'm still in bed. In my pyjamas. Snuggled under my duvet. You think your floors are cold when you get out of bed? Try the cold metal floors of the heli-carrier, agents have been hospitalised with frostbite for walking around barefoot before. I'm not joking.

My tablet dings with an important message alert, the sound ringing unpleasantly round the room, and I pull it onto my lap with a concerned frown. Alien invasion? Supervillian attack? The Avengers finally self-destructing? Any of these could be reported by an important message where S.H.I.E.L.D is concerned. And believe me, all three have happened more than once, and all three herald the arrival of a serious amount of paperwork.

Thankfully, it's neither of those three. The message simply reads 'Mission accomplished. Get kicking ass Hill.' It's jointly signed by Agent Yousif and Barton, and although technically I had personally approved their latest mission together, I'd been praying that I would live to regret approving it, considering what happened on their last mission together. But that's a story for another time. All you need to know is that it involved Phoenix (a legendary British mercenary and Yousif's villainous counterpart/arch nemesis/best friend), about fifty pink glitter bombs, six rolls of duct tape, three hundred litres of pure Russian vodka and half the Slovakian government.

Yeah, that was a fun one. I'd sworn never again, but somehow they'd wrangled me into it by-

Well, that doesn't matter now. All that matters is that they did it, and now comes the good part: I get to go on my much long-awaited mission with Coulson! I have to admit it, an embarrassing squeak of excitement escapes me and I do a little happy dance around my room, hopping quickly off the metal floors and onto a rug as the cold sears my feet. No-one must ever know that I squeaked like a recruit meeting Romanoff before coffee. Silence or death people, you've been warned.

When I've gotten dressed, I check the back of my wardrobe for Coulson's secret passage. So I'll admit it, I'm curious, (how did he even manage to make a passage through both our wardrobes without me noticing anyway?), and I want to scare him awake. Annoyingly enough I can't find any sign of the passage, because unfortunately, Coulson is just that good.

Perhaps I should explain something while I actually have a spare minute. At S.H.I.E.L.D we spilt most missions into three parts to stop one idiot, bad penny or traitor screwing up a whole mission. It means more paperwork, but it's worth it to keep our agents and our organisation safe. The first part is surveillance, which, though dependant on how dangerous the target is, usually goes to rookies. The second part, if we need specific information on the target(s), is infiltration, seduction or just plain old breaking in, whichever is fastest and safer. That's what Barton and Raven just handled, hopefully with minimum damage and minimum suspicion raised (although with those two I somehow doubt it), so now we can get onto stage three. The take down.

Coulson and I were always good at take downs.

Trust me on this one. There have been four Strike Teams in S.H.I.E.L.D's history. The first, Strike Team Alpha, was posthumously awarded to Captain Steve Rogers and Lieutenant James Barnes for exemplary services to the greater good (although is it still posthumous if they're both still technically alive?), and the second was given to Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos for services to the founding of S.H.I.E.L.D. Strike Team Gamma was awarded to Coulson and I after the-mission-that-shall-remain-unnamed, and Strike Team Delta is obviously Barton and Romanoff. It feels nice to be in such elite ranks, special even.

So yeah, Coulson and I are a lot more dangerous than we look. And considering half the time we look like out a stressed out office worker and a kindly school teacher, that's probably not that hard. Whatever, you get the idea.

Kneeling on the metal floor of my bedroom, I cautiously reach under my bed with my knees burning and protesting heartily from the cold, searching with my fingers for the keypad and fingerprint scanner that I know is there. I find it, put my thumb on the scanner, blink as a needle takes a sample of my blood, type in the onerously long password and reverently lift out the contents of the large safe.

The first thing that I turn my attention to is my sniper rifle. I love my old rifle with all my tiny little shrivelled up heart; if there's anything in the world I'm sentimental about it's this old thing. It's in utterly perfect condition, the gleaming black metal practically blinding me with my own smile, and it's probably killed more people than you've ever shaken hands with. You could even say I love it just as much as Barton loves his bow, although at least I haven't named an inanimate object.

I sling my rifle across my back and start pulling out some of my other hidden objects. Two small, black, unassuming little spheres roll across my lap before I hastily secure them to my belt. Pulse bombs. Want to cause absolute chaos with a smoke bomb, a flash bomb and energy pulse all in one? Pulse bombs are your new best friend. A lipstick taser and a mascara laser come next, and disappear into two different pockets, followed by a set of specialist lock picks that go under a patch of camo foil on my forearm. It never hurts to be prepared.

"Oh Mariaaaaaa!" comes a sing song voice from somewhere inside my quarters that I can't help but recognise immediately.

Okay, I seriously need to find out how he keeps doing that.

"Phil, don't sing, it makes you sound excited." I drawl with a considerable amount of sarcasm, biting my lip to hide a blossoming smile. I can't help it, it's impossible not to smile when Phil Coulson is happy, he's just too adorable.

"Oh but Maria, didn't you get the message?" Coulson all but skips around the corner, coming to a rest leaning on my bedroom door, looking extremely smug, and even smugger when he notices the assortment of weapons scattered around me.

I roll my eyes. "Yes Phil, I got the message, as you can probably tell from the excess of very dangerous weaponry."

"C'mon Maria, we're the only people here, you can admit you're excited. I don't think you're a hard ass anyway, it won't ruin your carefully cultivated image."

I clap a hand to my chest in mock horror. "You don't think I'm a hard ass? Phil Coulson I am shocked and horrified and quite honestly extremely offended."

He grins widely, mischief lighting up his eyes. "Yeah, but I remember the time you cried over doughnuts so…"

I cross my arms and pout up at him sulkily. "It was midnight and I was sugar deprived and I was on my period and, oh, we were all pretty sure that you were dead until you showed up with a box of doughnuts like 'Miss me?'. You're lucky I didn't jump out of that hospital bed and kill you, you nonchalant bastard. To be perfectly honest I would've if I hadn't had two broken legs, and even that nearly didn't stop me."

He strides over and offers me his hand, grinning at me with even more blinding force as I take it and let him pull me to my feet. "Just because I know that deep down inside you're an adorable, squishy, emotional teddy bear, doesn't mean I'm stupid enough not to be frightened to death of you."

"And just because I know that you act like you're an adorable, squishy, emotional teddy bear, doesn't mean that I'm stupid enough to think that you're not a badass, scary as hell, lethal as fuck agent of S.H.I.E.L.D that could frighten anyone to death if you tried."

Phil pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. "Oh Maria, you do flatter me."

I roll my eyes but allow myself to smirk slightly. "Please, I saw you nail Barton on the back of his head with a file from five storeys and a couple of hundred feet away. I know I'm not exaggerating."

"I'd return the favour by mentioning one of the extremely badass things I've witnessed you do over the years, except badass is your permanent state of being and there are really too many to choose from." Phil shrugs and casually links his arm through mine, using the contact to tug me towards the door. "Come on Maria, I'm going to die of old age before we get out on this stupid mission at this point."

"So Old Man, have you read the mission documents yet?" My valiant attempt to keep my expression composed and haughty fails when Phil whips his head around to stare at me.

"Old Man? I'll have you know I'm only…shit. When did I even get that old? Am I going grey? Do you think my joints are going to start going? When is S.H.I.E.L.D's retirement age? Do you think I'm going to develop narcolepsy? Although that could be a useful excuse in meetings…" Phil's tone turns from genuine worry to pure sarcasm about half way through his questioning, and my smirk turns into a full blown smile almost against my will.

"Mission document?" I reiterate, watching several junior agents scatter out of our way with wide eyes at the sight of a smile on my face. Usually the only time I smile is when I have something particularly evil planned, and S.H.I.E.L.D has long since learned never to get in the way of senior agents when they've got murder in their eyes. After all, no-one wants to end up as collateral damage, it's not a fun thing to have written on your gravestone.

"Yes Hill, I've read the mission document I'm sure you very lovingly prepared, I spend enough time telling Romanoff and Barton off for not reading the damnable things and getting in trouble because of it to know better than that. Besides, after a few months of dealing with Stark's 'attack' plans," the word is completed with a sarcastic eye roll that speaks volumes about Phil's opinions of those not-plans, "I'm dying to have a proper, well-documented plan that people actually follow and where everything goes right."

We both miss a step in the middle of the corridor, and exchange a meaning-laden glance. "Did I really just…" Phil trails off in mild horror before face-palming heavily.

"Don't worry about it, I already accidentally voodoo'd us, we were screwed from the start anyway." I shrug, trying for nonchalant and falling way short under Phil's really-Maria-now-I-know-we're-both-idiots glare.

"Looks like we're both out of practice, rookie mistakes like tempting fate and all."

"We could probably find some way to blame Fury for that one." I muse quietly as we continue walking through the corridors of the heli-carrier. Seriously, why are we even going the long way around? I side-eye Phil and ask him with a raised eyebrow, but he only give me a look that plainly reads be-patient-you-overly-impatient-human-being. And I guess there's no way to argue with that.

"We could probably blame Fury for anything and everything though, let's be honest. The Avengers not handing in paperwork? Fury put them together. Sitwell taking the last of the doughnuts? Fury was the one that promoted him. I get brought back from the dead? Fury revived the T.A.H.I.T.I project. That time that Barton died and then came back, and then died again before it turned out he was a robot? Fury put him up to it."

I look at Coulson with honest surprise. "That was Fury's fault? I thought the World Security Council put Barton up to it, and when Romanoff threatened to hunt them all down and murder their families if they did that again they finally realised not to plan missions around me?"

"Bitter, who you?" Phil chuckles under his breath.

"I'm not bitter!" I scowl bitterly, with a bitter expression. "Besides, you know I'm right, they didn't consult me about one mission and look how that turned out! We lost Barton twice, Romanoff nearly went insane, 13 was practically spitting fire, Raven started the unofficial We Hate The Council club (which basically everyone is a member of), Sitwell had to do my job for three days and managed to royally fuck everything up, you, Fury and I had no idea what the hell was going on and Deadpool stole a Quinjet! A motherfucking quinjet! Dammit Coulson those things are expensive!"

"That was, as your buddies in the Marines would say, TARFU, but…ah, here it is, the reason we came the long way around." Phil points at the wall across the hallway with a resigned smile.

Well speak of the motherfucking devil. "Deadpool." I half snarl, half sigh, hands immediately gravitating to my hips in the ultimate I'm-so-not-impressed expression, one eyebrow reaching near stratospheric heights.

The wall in front of me is dripping with red, black and white paint in the classic Deadpool-was-here symbol, the black circle, the red outline and the white eyes that perfectly represent his mask. Breaking out of S.H.I.E.L.D custody is one thing (we barely put any effort into containing him anymore) but leaving this…this thing on my walls is just going a step too far.

"Status report, where is this sonuvabitch and how many agents can I have on site to put the maximum amount of bullets in him."

"Defacing S.H.I.E.L.D property always did make you mad." Phil murmurs under his breath, but he quickly gets down to business. "I put Agents Desai and Silvester Williams on his escort detail as a punishment for getting distracted on their last mission, except it doesn't seem like that improved their concentration at all. Not that Deadpool wasn't going to escape anyway, but how the hell did he get his hands on paint? The two of them must have done something stupid, so yeah, they're in trouble."

"Desai and Silvester Williams…" I quickly scan through my memories for the identities of the duo. "Oh, part of Raven's pet team?"

"Do you remember the Silver Queen incident?" I nod, and Phil cocks his head in insinuation.

"No, they were involved in that?" I gasp, actually surprised. "I'm still mad at you for covering that up by the way, I get that you were protecting your agents and you probably had an excellent reason, but I hate not knowing the shit that happens in my own damn organisation."

"Involved in the Silver Queen incident?" Phil smirks. "Maria, they were the damn incident."

Suddenly, two agents that stand out among all the others appear around the corner. Not because they're particularly special in appearance, but because they're lugging a giant tin bath filled to the brim with water behind them, and even at S.H.I.E.L.D that's not a regular occurrence.

As they get closer I can here them bickering quietly, though not as I expected about whose fault it was or who's going to clear up the mess or even who's going to explain to Management what the hell happened. They're arguing about…dyeing their hair?

"C'mon, red dip dye would look great." says the shorter Asian agent with long black hair that is also dip-dyed red, blinking heavily after a small wave of water rushes over the edge of the bucket to slap her in the face, the corners of her eyeliner dripping slightly like a very well made-up crying clown.

"It'd look like I'd copied you, that's what it'd look like." the taller one with purple coloured hair snipes back, hazel eyes narrowed in mock disdain.

Phil moves his head closer to mine. "Agent Desai," he murmurs, pointing at the smaller Asian woman, "and Agent Silvester Williams." he gestures to the taller woman, with an exerted flush over her high, pale cheekbones. "And both of them are still distracted. This is becoming a bit of a theme."

I raise a fist to my lips and let out a sharp, pointed cough. Both agents immediately snap around, and their eyes widen simultaneously.

"Oh, uh, Agent Hill." Desai stutters, curling one piece of hair around her finger in what must be a nervous tick.

"And Agent C-Coulson." Silvester Williams' eyes flick from me to Phil with impressive speed. "We were just, um…"

"Covering my floors with water and making a bigger mess than you have already?" I snap, crossing my arms and glaring at them murderously. Really, with Deadpool's symbol dripping down the wall next to me it isn't hard to work up the anger.

Next to me, Phil gives them the patented I-believed-in-you-and-you-disappointed-me-how-could-you look, and under the combined assault of pissed and deeply saddened the duo wince.

"Agent Hill, I hardly think that's fair-" starts Silvester Williams, before her more situationally aware partner elbows her hard in the ribs. At least one of them has a sense of self preservation.

"What my partner means to say is-" Desai begins to say, an apologetic twist to her features and a soothing tone to her voice, before a cackle rings out from the vents. All four of us look up so fast we nearly suffer from whiplash, only to see a fleeting flash of red through the vents. Deadpool.

Hell yeah, I'm just that good. Avoiding S.H.I.E.L.D like a pro…although it's getting pretty easy to avoid you guys…maybe you aren't as hardcore as you like to pretend.

Fuck off Wilson, I'm trying to tell a story here.

But Hiiiiiiillllllll…

That's Deputy Director Hill to you, idiot. You've had two cameos so far, you should be grateful.

Yeah but the last one was lame and in the past tense so I couldn't comment and-

You'll get another chapter at some point.

Really? Omigosh are you serious? Ooh, maybe with Spidey or Wolvey or-

But you're not first priority. Now shove off because I'm about to set my agents on you.

*sarcastic salute*

I turn to the two young agents, who were still stood there looking gormlessly at the ceiling. "Well?" I snap, jolting them out of their stupor, "What are you waiting for? If you can run Deadpool off the premises with no causalities and no major property damage, and you clean this mess off the wall before I get back, I won't send you two to the Arctic base for six months. So I suggest you get going."

The two agents exchanged determined looks, before dashing over to just below the vent. Silvester Williams gave her dainty partner a boost up into the air, both the agent and her masses of hair quickly disappearing into depths of S.H.I.E.L.D's extremely extensive ventilation system. The last thing we saw of Agent Desai was a Cheshire Cat grin looming from the darkness, and her partner disappeared in a helter-skelter dash of purple hair down the hallway, agents calming moving out of her way because at S.H.I.E.L.D people running through the corridors as if their ass in on fire is an everyday occurrence. Sometimes literally (thanks Johnny Storm for bringing that expression to life. No really, thanks. Sitwell was being more annoying than usual that day and he certainly learnt a lesson).

"Did you just send two of my up and coming, albeit easily distracted agents on a suicide mission?" Phil frowns at me, a mock disappointed pout pulling at his lips.

"No, I told them to get Deadpool out of here, not to stop him. Because Deadpool is rather unstoppable, as much as we like to pretend otherwise, and stopping him would be a suicide mission for anyone without superpowers. Whereas running him off the premises tends to involve bribing him with pancakes."

"And that is why," Phil announces with a grin, "we made sure the cafeteria makes pancakes everyday by making it a regulation in the handbook."

"No, you made up that rule because you had to stop 16 year old Barton sneaking off to IHOP everyday for pancakes when he was supposed to be completing his advanced training. I still think we shouldn't have passed him."

"And I still say that breaking out of S.H.I.E.L.D at 16 years of age, whether the motive was pancakes or industrial espionage, proves that he deserved to pass his training, whether he's still incapable of filling in paperwork or not." With one last glare at the paint-covered wall, we start moving towards the flight deck again. "And I think you should probably give Parker a heads up that Deadpool is back out, and is probably on his way to continue his daily harassment of the kid. He sure does know how to pick his enemies."

"As long as Deadpool doesn't jump off the flight deck again without a parachute and end up as a grease spot on the New York pavements, I really don't care who he ends up harassing." I attempt to hold firm but quickly crumble under Phil's I'm-disappointed-in-your-complete-lack-of-empathy-even-when-it's-approriate look. "Fine, fine, I know we're not over New York, I was just enjoying complaining." Phil continues to give me a look that could probably make Batman tremble in his little black boots. I only hold out for maybe two minutes, which is probably a new world record, believe me. "Alright, fine! I'll call Parker, Jesus, calm your glare, I get it. Defend the kid's youth and innocence from Wilson's dirty mind…dammit Phil, I'm making the call, I'm making it! Stop glaring already!"

He only relents when I pull out my tablet and tap in the SpiderIdiot option. I do it grudgingly, but I do it. I might be pretty scary, but no-one survives Phil Coulson. He'll love you into guilty submission. Trust me.

The call goes through, and we start getting some weird noises from Spiderman's comm. "Parker?" I hiss. Phil is muffling giggles off to my left, but I don't quite get why. "Parker, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, get somewhere private and answer the goddamn comm, this is important."

"Mmm, MJ, mmm, hold on a sec, I gotta get this."

I gag when realisation finally hits. "Oh god, are they snogging?! Ew, this is why I don't work with teenagers. And why there's a no-relationships within S.H.I.E.L.D rule. And why there's a rule about eating each other's faces within a 10-foot range of me. Because it's gross. And unsanitary. And it's not something I want to see, or hear." I throw the tablet in Phil's direction like its contagious, nose crinkling with real disgust. "Here, you deal with it…him…them."

With a smirk that is far too amused, Phil easily catches the tablet. "Parker?"

"Uh, Coulson, hey. You didn't…hear anything, did you?"

Phil's mirth-filled eyes say he's dying to burst out laughing, but his voice stays perfectly even and calm. "No, I didn't hear anything. I'm calling to tell you that Deadpool is probably heading your way."

Parker sighs in obvious frustration, most likely running his hands through his permanently ruffled hair. "You let him escape again? What use are you people? You can't even stop one guy leaving your super-secret base for two months?"

"What would you rather," Phil snaps, "we let undertrained, unprepared agents get themselves killed trying to stop an unstoppable man, or take high level agents away from their jobs and let the rest of the world implode to make your life easier? Believe me, if there was something we could do, we would be doing it, but until Barton and Romanoff voluntarily retire to babysit Deadpool full time, you will just have to interrupt your love life to deal with him!"

I can feel Parker's grimace when reality hits through the thousands of miles that separate us. "You heard…that, didn't you." There's a muffled sound that I assume is Mary Jane Watson dying of embarrassment. Poor kid, but an intelligent girl like her should know better than to get, ahem, tangled up with superheroes.

"Yes," Phil answers, amusement finally seeping through his I'm-a-very-serious-and-stern-senior-agent tone of voice, "we did."

"WE?!" comes a twin chorus of horror.

Phil grinned wickedly. "Agent Hill and I are very unimpressed." And with a swipe of his hand he cuts of the strangled shouts of one teenage superhero and his undoubtedly extremely embarrassed girlfriend.

"Well," I say, a small grin creeping onto my face, "neither of them are going to be able to look either of us in the eyes again. I think I smell blackmail material."

Phil rolls his eyes, but he's biting back a wide smile. "If you're done terrifying the teenagers of the world, we have a mission to go on."

There's a short pause.

"So how much are we betting we're gonna die again?"

(*I*I*I*)

Rooftops are cold. It sounds obvious, but if you're ever planning to become a spy, it's something you're going to find out sooner rather than later. Also, don't believe your partner when he says the warmth of friendship will stop you freezing your ass off.

I really wish I'd brought that extra parka.

We're lying on our backs on a rooftop in Novosibirsk (yes, that's a real place and not me bashing someone's head in with the keyboard), reclining just as much to look at the stars as to avoid being seen from below. Small pieces of gravel dig into my back, my rifle is a cold metal presence on one side and Phil is a warm one on the other. I feel like I'm going to lose my nose to frostbite, maybe my fingers too, and we've got at least another hour and a half to go before the target shows up outside this warehouse. Just like old times…except that nothing's gone wrong. Yet.

I'm still waiting.

"So," Phil breaks the silence, murmuring instead of whispering as it's much quieter which anyone with any training at all whatsoever will know, "Batman or Sherlock?"

"No."

"Aw c'mon Maria, you can let out your inner nerd, there's no-one around to judge, except me, who is far too much of a nerd to be judging anyone." I can feel Phil's shit-eating grin without even looking at him; I certainly know where Barton gets it from. Like practically-adopted-father, like practically-adopted-son.

"I could just about put up with you fangirling over Captain America considering that he was your childhood hero and he saved both your granddads and your grandmother etc. etc, and I get now he's reincarnated himself as a not-zombie it's a little weird for you to spend most of your free time fawning over him, but that does not mean I have to listen as you transfer your inner nerd onto fictional characters! I get enough of that from Barton on missions."

"You've been on a total of maybe 7 missions with Clint in the 13 years you've worked together." There is a slight tone of exasperation in his voice. Me not getting on with his agents is one of his pet hates. My response has always been that his agents not doing their paperwork is one of my pet hates. So there.

"And that was 7 missions too many. Besides, it's not the mission that's the killer with Barton, it's his goddamn paperwork."

Now I can hear Phil rolling his eyes. He turns on his side so he can look me in the face and give me a look. "We are not here to talk about paperwork Maria. This is supposed to be a holiday, not let's-moan-to-Phil-about-paperwork hour."

"Most people," I pat my rifle, "don't kill people on their holidays."

"We," Phil gestures between the two of us, "are not normal people. Speaking of which, do you want a Pepsi or a Coke?"

"Either, as long as it's not Dr Pepper."

Phil looks heavenwards as if asking God for strength and drawls "Oh no Maria, after nearly 16 years of working together I had absolutely no idea you hate Dr Pepper so much you put it on the S.H.I.E.L.D Prohibited Items list." with so much sarcasm it's close to a lethal dose.

I sigh as Phil rolls over and crawls low to the ground to rifle through the cooler, my eyes fixed firmly on the stars. I was never any good at stargazing, I never had the time nor the patience to bother learning all the constellations, but I still try to pick them out with just my imagination. It reminds me of being a kid in Chicago and wondering what the stars even looked like; I could never see even just one through all the pollution. "Phil, you're good at astronomy, aren't you?"

"Maria…"

"Is that the Big Dipper or am I imagining things?"

"Maria."

I grab my rifle and leap into a crouching position at the tone of urgency in Phil's voice, but it's already too late.

Phil's crouched over the cooler, for once not wearing his suit but a pair of black mission trousers (because it's really not comfortable to wear a suit when lying on concrete for 7 hours straight, even if you are the Phil Coulson), one hand on the gun holster at his side, the other raised in surrender. He looks more resigned than scared about the long silver sword drawing a thin line of blood over his adam's apple.

Phil's assailant immediately gets a rifle shoved in their face, my fingers hovering over the trigger, itching to pull it but knowing that it would very likely get Phil killed. Which is something I'd quite like to avoid. "Drop the sword and no-one has to get hurt."

Silver armour glints under a black hoodie and I take a split second to curse every god and deity out there (yes, including Thor), my rotten luck and especially Fury for depriving us of mission practice for so long. When we were both field agents no-one would've been able to sneak up on us like this. No-one. "Silver Samurai, out doing chores for Viper again? Damn, has she got you under her manicured green thumb or what? You used to be scary. Now you're just an over-glorified bodyguard."

He doesn't rise to the jibes, he doesn't even speak. The Silver Samurai has always been one of those strong, silent types, I don't think I've ever even heard him speak in person.

I sense someone appear behind be and automatically duck the blow that would've knocked me unconscious. "Oh c'mon Viper," I say before I even turn around, "like I wasn't expecting that."

A whippet thin woman glares back at me, poison green eyes glowing in the fading evening light and a wicked smirk tugging at her lips. She's crouched on the ledge of the roof, dark green hair curling over her shoulder and brushing over her bodysuit, which is dappled green and black like the scales of a snake. "Oh Agent Hill," she purrs, lips fixed in a smile and hate-filled eyes promising a long and slow death, "I've been dying to meet you in the field again."

"No. You've been killing to meet me again Viper." I drop my rifle (no time to worry about the paint job when facing death herself) and in one fluid move pull out both my pistols, knock off the safeties and point them in opposite directions; one at the Silver Samurai's face, and one at Viper's. He doesn't even twitch. She grins. "Was Berlin not enough for you?" I continue, anger leaking from my words, "Wasn't the Aswan Dam? Why do you even care so much? I don't, you're just another psycho villainess. But every single time I come out on a mission, whether to get something done or save one of my agents, you show up, we fight, you leave. Usually someone dies. You're like a teenager with a creepy obsessive crush." I glare at her, breathing heavy in a desperate effort to keep my temper under control.

"Knowledge is power," she breathes, all the teasing gone from her smile, "and I won't give you either." A poisoned dart flies out of her sleeve before she even finishes her sentence and I twist to avoid it, but I don't see the second one until it embeds itself in my shoulder.

Shit.

I fire off every single bullet in my right gun as I yank out the dart, but she dodges every single one with the sinuous grace her name suggests. In the corner of my eye I see Phil slam backwards into the Silver Samurai to jolt the sword away from his neck, so he can duck under it and twist to his feet, pulling out his gun and firing off shots that send silver shards twirling through the air as he backs away to get some space between him and that sword. The Silver Samurai advances on him, but I don't even have half a second to help him out.

Because Viper is onto me, and by God is she fast.

She strikes like a snake, fast and just as lethal, a straight-fingered jab to my throat that misses by no more than a hair's breadth, followed by an almost simultaneous heel to my stomach. I absorb the blow, it's not like I have any choice, and drop my other gun in the process, but take my opportunity to grab her ankle in a vice-like grip and yank her off her higher vantage point on the ledge surrounding the roof.

She goes down with a furious snarl, landing hard on her back in the gravel, but kick-flips over backwards and lands on her feet before I have any chance to press my momentary advantage. The heel of her hand goes straight for my nose, but I bring up both arms to block it with a classic 'x' block. Viper growls, green lips pulling back to bare her teeth, before launching a kick that smashes into the side of my knee, nearly sending me down and sending shooting pains all the way up my leg. Now it's my turn to snarl.

Normally, I would be alright fighting Viper. While my general mission skills might not be quite up to scratch, I always made sure to keep up with sparring practice, because considering my luck, some villain would definitely come barrelling into my office if I didn't. It's like extreme karma. If I miss one training session, just one mind you, I'll get thrown into combat before Phil can shout 'Goddamn it Maria!'. But that dart was poisoned. I knew that before my balance went wonky and my eyesight started exploding with purple sparks. And that definitely wasn't good for fighting.

Viper grins as I drop to my knees, fighting with everything I have to keep my eyes open. "It's impressive that you have stayed awake as long as you have. Men twice your size have fallen under half the time, I'll be interested to find out what drives you later."

"I won't give you jack shit." I slur, the words heavy and difficult in my mouth. She sashays over and I launch a punch, but she steps out of the way with barely any effort at all and continues advancing.

Manicured green nails dig into my chin as Viper grabs my face and forces it heavenwards. The stars blur and swirl around in the black velvet sky like dancers at a ball.

"Agent Coulson, drop your weapons."

I hear a solid thud as a gun hits the ground.

"Phil, don't-"

"Maria, with all due respect, shut up. You're high, and in no position to be issuing orders."

Green hair looms into my vision, framing a bone white face and blurry green features. "I'm g-gonna fffucking-"

"I suggest you do as your partner tells you and shut your mouth."

That's the last thing I hear before a fist shoots down and slams into my temple, instantly blanketing the world in black.

(*I*I*I*)

I wake up only to be blinded by white lights even from behind my eyelids and deafened by some asshole banging on a drum.

I quickly realise the drum is actually just a pounding headache, but it doesn't make it any less rude. Who gave a headache permission to take up residence in my head? I certainly didn't.

"Rise and shine pumpkin pie."

My eyes snap open and immediately fix on a seriously bored looking Phil Coulson. Like he-would-kill-six-people-with-a-paperclip-and-half-a-tube-of-toothpaste-just-for-something-to-do bored. "Don't you dare call me that."

"Why not? It's not like you can come over here and kill me."

He's right. My hands are manacled above my head, my ankles are in much the same position, there's even a metal band around my waist and I can't move an inch. What's infinitely more worrying are the wires running from a hole in the wall to electrodes stuck on my temples, neck, chest, wrists, elbows, knees and ankles. Great. Torture time, woo-fucking-hoo. "Still, don't call me that or I swear to god I'll learn to teleport through sheer force of will just so I can come over there and murder you."

Phil bites back a mirthful grin, grey eyes sparkling. "If you manage that, I'll let you kill me."

A tension filled silence follows, where I analyse the room for possible methods of escape despite the fact Phil has definitely already tried it, and he waits patiently for me to satisfy myself that we really can't escape. Because we can't. Viper might be a bitch, but she's a smart bitch, I'll give her that, and she's determined too. To get out of her clutches, we're gonna have to take extreme measures.

Phil, who for his part is pinned down to a metal chair with his hands manacled behind his back, raises one flawless eyebrow. We've both been divested of all our weapons (obviously), and while they've left Phil with a pair of ratty grey slacks, I'm tied up in only my bra and pants. Which is rude. Whatever happened to the girl code?

"Are you done?"

"I'm just waiting for you to get started."

Phil sends me an are-you-even-fucking-serious glare of epic proportions. I raise both eyebrows. He tilts his head sideways. I nod twice. He closes his eyes as if to say 'here we go again'. I motion for him to hurry up. He purposely shifts his eyes towards the closed and probably locked door. I sigh. Great, now we're going to have to wait for some minion to open the goddamn door before we can escape. Wonderful. Unless…I press the inside of my elbow against my hip, and feel the faint crackle of S.H.I.E.L.D's cam foil technology against my bare skin. Right, so we still have lock picks. I grin at Phil and wiggle my eyebrows, and he sighs overdramatically, but the light switches on behind his eyes and he begins to shift in his chair.

To cover his manoeuvring I strike up a conversation. "Notice how they're going to torture me yet again out of the two of us."

"It's really quite offensive to be honest." Phil sighs as if he finds the situation truly regrettable, as if someone had fetched him tea when he wanted coffee and now he's mildly disappointed in their judgement. "Why do they always use you against me like I'm the one who's going to crack first? Let's be totally honest here, neither of us has ever cracked under torture. Ever. But they always look at me and go 'oh, a sweet old guy, surely he'll break down when his tough-as-nails partner starts screaming'. Frankly, it's offensive."

"Well I think its offensive that-" A burst of static cuts off what I was about to say before I can finish my sentence. Phil and I exchange a look and he starts shifting in his chair faster.

"Oh Agent Hill, you cannot possibly understand how long I've been waiting for this." It's Viper. Of course it's Viper. This psycho demoness really needs a good kick in the teeth. Also a lecture on how to be a better villain because, a monologue, really? "You, out of every S.H.I.E.L.D agent have always been of the greatest interest to HYDRA. Nothing is known about your past or the secrets you hide, not even by your own agents. Not even by your so called 'friends'. How much information you must hold in your pretty little head, how much knowledge, how much power. If I had your memories at my disposal, I could overthrow Red Skull with a flick of my wrist and only the smallest of skirmishes. You have delayed my rise for too long Agent Hill, and your partner's death brought together HYDRA's greatest enemy. For those reasons," and oh but there's a smile in her voice and she's far too pleased with herself for what's coming to be anything but revenge, "this will not be pleasant."

There's a split second where Phil's wide eyes meet mine and there's terror there and there's fear in my veins but I mustn't show it no I absolutely can't afford to show it-

Flashes of red, blood, screaming, a sword on the wall, a schnick, a head rolling on the carpeted floor-

Phil's grey eyes open wide, panic clear as he wriggles furiously in his chair, screams ringing around the room without any visible source-

A dark street, looming faces, flashing knives in the dim moonlight, a red hat and matching red lipstick-

Phil tearing his eyes away from mine to stare down at his hands as my vision blurs over with tears-

A smile, a hug, a flinch, an apology, starry nights and secrets and dark shadows and whispered promises-

White noise fills the air and I'm thrashing now, tears running down my cheeks and the air is alight with sparks of electricity-

Laughter, camaraderie, orders and orders and orders, a dark corner, tearing pain radiating from my stomach-

A sickening crack as Phil wrenches himself forward, both his thumbs dislocated to escape the handcuffs and now his shoulders too-

A blue dish steaming with bubbling cheese on the window sill, dark cells and warm blood and screams ringing around bright white rooms-

Phil is suddenly closer than he was before, grey eyes worried and mouthing words that don't reach my ears-

Badges and guns and one lethal eye and two sheepish blue eyes and emotionless green eyes and always, always the reassuring grey eyes-

Those same grey eyes come into focus with worry blazing in them as the pain stops, electrodes dangling from one calloused hand while the other gently takes hold of my elbow and peels back the now-defunct camo-foil in order to take out the lock picks and start unlocking my cuffs as quickly as possible.

It takes me what seems like a lifetime to calm down from what could be only described as the most concentrated PTSD attack of my over-experienced life, complete with some rather painful electrocution which has made my muscles spasm entirely uncontrollably, but in reality it's only as long as it takes Phil to pick the locks on my cuffs and gently help me down off the wall. Because as fancy as HYDRA is with all its advanced technology, you still can't open handcuffs with a swipe card. Oh the joys of modern technology.

I angrily wipe away the drying tears from my cheeks and refasten some of my hair that escaped my ponytail during my struggling. Because now I'm mad. Really mad. Like burn-down-the-world-with-fires-of-fury really and truly fuming. No-one uses my past against me like that. Nobody. And making me relive the memories themselves, seeing the horrific images and feeling the phantom pains and watching all those people die? Oh yes, HYDRA needs a reminder why Phil Coulson and I are Strike Team Gamma, and if breaking out in our underwear with just a set of lock picks at our disposal doesn't teach them to fear us, I honestly don't know what will.

Unfortunately, you can't pick HYDRA doors with lock picks, because they do in fact use swipe cards. Fortunately, HYDRA goons come charging into rooms without checking whether there are highly trained spies behind the doors. I make a mental note to check that S.H.I.E.L.D agents don't do that when our prisoners make an escape attempt, because it's just embarrassing.

Just think, it was only this morning that I was worrying about Deadpool breaking out. How the tables have turned. Hey, ate least he's impervious to bullets and got pancakes in the bargain.

I bet I won't get any pancakes.

It only takes one extremely angry Phil Coulson (he's very rarely angry but when he is by God it's like a force of nature) a matter of seconds to disarm four goons dressed top to toe in full black body armour.

The door flies open, only for the first two guards to freeze in complete shock upon seeing me in all my near-naked glory, hands on hips and thanking every god that I don't know personally that I put matching underwear on this morning. Black, with little white bows on. I know my underwear is cute, but the way I could see their pupils dilate under their visors was a little ridiculous. Men, what can you do. Phil took his opportunity to step out behind them, taking their feet out from under them with two well placed kicks before stepping around them and stabbing them both in the jugular with a pick. He knelt by their sides, ignoring the spurts of blood and dying death rattles of the two men, and tossed me both their handguns, so when the next duo came along with obvious orders not to get distracted by a reasonably attractive half-naked woman, I could put a bullet between their collar bones.

There's no time for conversation, no time for Phil to pull me into his arms and hug my problems away (which is a 100% effective method, I know from experience, even if it would be awkward when we're both half naked) like he so obviously wants to, no time for him to sit us both down with a hot chocolate on the roof of the Triskelion and fill in the paperwork together from whatever recent mission was haunting us. Besides, even if there was, Viper is inevitably watching us, and though I don't know exactly what she saw from my screwed up head, I'm damn well not going to tell her anything else incriminating.

So instead, we rifle through the dead guards' pockets and weapons belts, both of us taking a t-shirt and pants but leaving the body armour, going for speed over ill-fitting protection. No sense running around in just our underwear after all, even if running around in just a bra and pants and being mildly attractive can apparently knock guys out for six. We decide this in silence, using a series of hand gestures and taunt expressions that seem as old to me as time itself. The thought that I don't find stripping dead bodies weird anymore enters my mind, but I banish it quickly as irrelevant to the situation. Distractions so often equal death in this game, and in the Viper's nest I can't afford that. Neither of us can.

Because right now, both Phil and I are in the mood to burn this HYDRA base down to its foundations, and it's all the better if Viper goes down along with it.

It takes us seven minutes, twelve guards and three different stolen swipe cards to pass through three different corridors. Sadly enough evil organisations don't tend to label their corridors with directions like 'Evil Psycho Leader Straight Ahead', but hopefully if we just keep moving, kill enough minions and blow up enough stuff, Viper herself will eventually show up to stop us. Because if I were her, that's exactly what I'd do. After grabbing some high-powered, pretty much unstoppable weapons of course.

Aw shit, why did I even think that?

"Viper's going to be on her way now." Phil murmurs, face turned away from the nearest camera and his voice barely audible under the gunfire as we exchange shots with three goons hidden around the corner. We used our only grenade to blow open the last important-looking door, so we're down to a hand gun each and the machine gun Phil's saving for when events turn drastic. Trust me, we might be alone and without backup deep within a HYDRA base in God-knows-where, with no armour and a rapidly depleting supply of weapons, but in my opinion we're still doing pretty well.

"No shit." I mutter back, popping out into the corridor for a brief second to shoot one of the enemy in the neck before ducking back behind cover. "You just wrecked what was probably a very expensive psychosomatic/electric shock torture machine, and stopped Viper getting her green gloved hands on my memories…hopefully anyway."

"Speaking of which, are you feeling okay?" There's concern underlying his voice even as he calmly shoots one man in the thigh and the other in the shoulder, before stepping out in one bold move and expertly shooting both targets in the throat. It's mildly annoying: the head isn't an option because of their helmets, and their chests are protected by layers and layers of body armour, though luckily for Phil and I, they can all shoot about as well as a bunch of Imperial Stormtroopers. Seriously, it's cringe-worthy, and we're the ones getting shot at.

We hurry down the corridor towards the freshly cooling bodies and, after I empty my last bullet into the camera that is tracking our movements, take the various weapons off their belts. Three handguns, two batons and a hunting knife…I miss my pulse bombs.

"Phillip J. Coulson, if you really just asked me if I'm okay I'll sign you up to Psych when we get back, see if Dr Sukes can find out whether you've finally gone insane or if you're just being wilfully annoying. Does my past seem like it induces smiles and rainbows to you?"

"As probably the only other person on the planet who knows everything that happened to you," and we can thank the Caracas mission for that, "I can safely say that no, your past isn't great." A hail of gunfire erupts and we both duck into doorways on opposite sides of the corridor, both of us almost rolling our eyes. Statistically, one of them should've at least managed to graze one of us by now, just by chance. "Are you functional is probably a better question."

"Right now, yes, I am. I'm planning to have a breakdown later though. You can join me if you want."

"9pm, the store room in the back of the cafeteria?" His words are half a joke, and half an honest question. Jesus, even the mere mention of that room brought back memories. I'd gotten myself confined to the heli-carrier for…certain reasons, and I was also forbidden from seeing Phil. It had been back when Peggy Carter was in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D, and I can honestly say that was the only time I ever disobeyed her orders for a purely selfish reason. That might be the only time I've ever disobeyed any orders actually…except the Council's. Because fuck the Council. Anyway, the two of us had snuck around the heli-carrier for months like a pair of schoolgirls, finding increasingly odd hiding places until we'd ended up in the storage closet behind the counter in the cafeteria hiding from a suspicious Nick Fury. God, we managed to trap ourselves in there for hours after the nightly Late Night Insomniac's Meeting started up, left with no choice but to talk about anything and everything in the pitch black. It had become a kind of ritual after a while, but it had trailed off when I got promoted to Deputy Director and I 'no longer had the time'. It's official, I suck, I'm a terrible partner. How the hell could I neglect Phil for six whole years? When had paperwork become more important than my best friend?

"I wouldn't miss it for the world Phil." We share a grin. And really, I won't; if I die here today, I swear I'll fight my way back from death as a ghost to turn up.

I lean out of my doorway slightly and let four bullets fly, and listen to the sound of four bodies hitting the ground in near perfect synchronisation. Oh yes, I still have my skills.

We both almost step out into the corridor, but both halt, wide-eyed, at the unmistakable sound of a large weapon charging up. What did I tell you about Viper turning up with a big ass weapon?

Dammit.

"As a fellow woman," comes Viper's voice, low, soft and oddly sympathetic, "I salute you for your hardships. No-one else has screamed quite so much under the force of their own memories. But as your enemy," her voice hardens back to the low purr that I've learnt to hate, "I'm going to use them to destroy you."

"Thanks for the heads up." I whisper sarcastically to myself, but I keep my voice down on the off chance she doesn't know our exact locations. Not that it'll matter if her weapon is big enough; she's crazy enough to blow us all to hell if she has to.

A pair of heels click-clack down the hallway towards us, the sound ringing with intimidation. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

There's no use hiding, I might as well find out what's happening before she's on top of us and ready to blow us to pieces. Cautiously, I crouch as low as I can get to the floor and peer around the corner, my logic being that Viper is less likely to be examining foot height for her targets.

It's not a pretty sight, the HYDRA deputy is as put together as always, green lips curved into a smirk and equally green eyes scanning the corridor as she strides forwards, not sparing a glance for her dead agents as she tracks their blood along the floor under her well-heeled shoes. Viper herself however is not going to be our main problem. The giant black cannon-style gun she's balancing on her hip with both hands gripping it tightly in dark green talons is. It's a monster of a weapon, with a huge black muzzle, wicked silver prongs and glowing green panels up the sides that bubble with a malicious looking lime green liquid. I have no idea what it does.

Green eyes meet mine and begin to twinkle with malicious glee. "There you are. Now hold still…" The gun begins to gleam green inside the barrel, and whatever it does, there's no way in hell I'm staying within range of that.

I push off the floor and roll away from her and deeper inside the room, ducking behind an office desk to get out of her sight. Normally I would've taken my opportunity to search through their computers or the files stacked haphazardly across abandoned table tops, but this is Viper, she's easily as good as I am and I can't afford to split my attention.

I go silent, my breathing slowing, my feet stopping, even my heartbeat seems to drop its pounding noise. The only problem is, Viper's done that too, so I have no idea where in the room she is.

And then a low hum starts up, and the green glow of her gun peaking over the counters nearly makes me startle before she turns the lights on and the glow disappears. But I know where she is now, and I can track the humming of her oversized gun and move myself away from her accordingly.

That is, until six of the desks go up in a roar of green flames. That's not so unusual, not unusual enough to make me reveal myself anyway. And then the sprinkler system comes on, the low whine of a fire alarm warning no-one but the dead bodies in the hallways and whoever else hasn't been smart enough to evacuate themselves already that they might be in danger from something other than the S.H.I.E.L.D team rampaging through their hallways. The flames hiss at the touch of the sprinklers, but don't go out; if anything they only rise higher in defiance.

The pieces click together. Green flames. Flames that don't go out. HYDRA's obsession with the myths, and especially mythological weapons.

It's Greek fire.

HYDRA's built a weapon that spits fire that can't be put out. And they've put it in Viper's hands.

Are they fucking insane? Do they want a world left to rule when they're done? Because if I've ever met someone who would burn down the world just to prove she could, just to take it away from everyone else who loved anything in it, it's Viper. And by God she'd grin while she did it.

Too lost in sheer horror, images of skylines burning across the world springing into my mind, I'm too slow to move out of Viper's sight as she rounds the corner, figure silhouetted by the green flames as she carefully skirts around them. One spark and she'll be dead, and what's probably worse in her mind, I'll still be alive.

There's one bullet in my gun. One singular bullet. You're probably screaming 'Shoot her in the head!', but I've done that twice before and she's come back to life both times, though HYDRA only knows how. So instead, I take my aim, quickly correcting the shaking caused by my hands which are still reacting to the earlier electric shocks, and fire.

My aim holds true. The bullet flies straight into the barrel of Viper's gun, ricocheting around the inside and causing green sparks to fly through the air. That should but the death-machine out of commission for a while.

Viper does exactly the opposite of what I was hoping for; she doesn't snarl, she laughs. "As if I'm stupid to wield a gun against a sharpshooter which could be rendered useless so easily. Frankly, I'm insulted. Paperwork has dulled you Hill, you've been far too easy to play with, its hardly even a challenge anymore. Still," she said, raising the gun slightly, green sparks twisting around in concentric rings, glowing brighter and brighter as they swirled together in the centre, "I think I can find it in me to relish your demise. Goodbye Agent Maria Hill."

She fires the gun, but I roll out of the way at the last second, my back burning with the heat of the flames roaring to life inches behind me. I'm surely get a nice sunburn from that one.

The shadows flicker and dance over the walls, tossed this way and that by the green flames. Most people are afraid of shadows and the dark they bring, but I know better. I know the shadows bring hiding places, and hiding places bring help.

"You're forgetting one thing Viper."

"Oh please, don't bore me with pitiful bluffs."

"I have a partner."

Her green eyes widen comically, green lips parting in dawning realisation, and to be fair to her, she very nearly makes it away from the pistol which smashes into the back of her head. But then again, no-one has ever escaped an angry Phil Coulson. Ever.

"You okay?"

"That's still a stupid question."

Phil grins, steps over Viper's prone form, kicks the Gun Of Ultimate Death By Fire out of her reach and offers me a hand up from my position sprawled across the floor. I take it and let him haul me to my feet, brushing myself down and examining Phil for any injuries.

"Twelve HYDRA goons showed up after you lured Viper away. Twelve. I had four bullets Maria, and that's not good odds even if I wasn't stood here in a pair of horrendously ugly trousers. Plus," Phil gestures mock irritably at his bare feet, "the floors in here are colder than the heli-carrier, and that's damn well saying something."

"…So, what do we do with her?"

"Y'know what? I actually have an idea."

(*I*I*I*)

By the time the Avengers arrive, I'm tapping my foot with impatience. For the 'World's Mightiest Heroes', they're rather slow. I should do something about that, reaction time improvement or something. Maybe I can send them after Deadpool…now there's an idea and a half.

After Phil singlehandedly took down Viper, the rest of the HYDRA base fell like a set of well placed dominos, practically falling over each other to surrender. Pathetic really, even if Phil and I did pretend we had an entire legion of S.H.I.E.L.D agents surrounding the whole base. We discovered a lot of very interesting things with just a quick run through of the base, and I'm sure when we can get a proper S.H.I.E.L.D Intelligence team down here they'll discover a lot more. Because we'd been taken to the Nest, yes, the Viper's Nest, the legendary hidden HYDRA base we've spent decades and millions of pounds trying to find, and Phil and I got taken there without even trying. Silver Samurai was nowhere to be seen, but Viper is currently handcuffed and unconscious at my feet on the rocky mountainside. And yeah, I might have dragged her along the floor with a little more force than necessary, and I might have thrown her into a few sharp corners, but hey, can you blame me?

Stark lands first, metal feet landing with an almost silent clunk on the mountainside, his face mask flipping back to reveal a roguish grin. "Hill&Phil, how nice to see you. I assume everyone has been secured, everything has been boxed and labelled numerically and the maximum amount of paperwork has been filled out and meticulously filed?"

"Stark, there are days you don't want to mess with me, and then there's today. So I suggest you leave my presence before I give you so much paperwork to do you bleed to death from the papercuts."

Thor lands next to his teammate and pats the genius so hard on the back that Stark nearly stumbles off the cliff. "Aye Stark, one should not trifle with those who create their own release from captivity." A dark shadow passes behind Thor's eyes. "I would know."

Before anyone can so much as exchange an awkward look (because Thor 'sneakily' mentioning Loki is always really freaking awkward) a slightly peeved but very amused voice rings out from the quinjet, causing a small avalanche on a nearby peak. "I can't believe this. I cannot physically believe this." A pale middle finger appears on the pilot's window at the front of the quinjet, and behind the darkened glass I can just make out the edges of Barton's huge smile. "I owe Mockingbird like half a million bucks for this. See, I bet that you'd escape all by yourselves, and she bet you'd escape without any help and take Viper captive. Since that's never happened before, even when you were both in practice-"

"You wait till I get up there and I'll show you how out of practice I am!"

"What're you gonna do, sit on me?" Clint quips back, even as he uses most of his considerable skills to turn the quinjet around in the very tight space between the mountains, so that the hangar door faces us. "C'mon then losers, pile in, it's doughnut day in the cafeteria and if I miss out on my sugar fill you ain't gonna like what happens." There's a yelp as Romanoff grabs his ear in warning, but Barton has a point; he's not nice when he's missing out on doughnuts. Neither is Phil actually, it's a wonderful quality they share.

"Thor, grab Viper, and don't let her go no matter what she says or does, or what happens to the rest of us. I don't care if we get blown out of the sky, you hang onto her, understood? We have gone through enough over the years at her hands; she needs to be put away for good." Thor nods solemnly, scooping up the unconscious HYDRA Deputy and rapping her in a bear hug, green hair spilling over his godly arms.

"Right, now let's get moving." I look at Phil, who pulls a face. "What, I can't give orders now? Besides, my feet are fucking freezing, it's like being on the heli-carrier stood out in all this snow!"

"The heli-carrier can't be that cold." Stark snarks.

I take a running jump and land neatly in the quinjet's open hangar. "New S.H.I.E.L.D rule: Stark has to walk around the heli-carrier barefoot at all times."

"Hey!" Stark yells indignantly, much to the amusement of his teammates, before he turns to Phil with a beseeching look.

My partner only laughs quietly, the sound delighted and slightly malicious as Phil joins me inside the quinjet. "You messed with the wrong pair of pissed-off assassins today Stark. The rule stands. Have fun with your frostbite!"

(*I*I*I*)

It's 9pm now, and we're back at the heli-carrier. Specifically, Phil and I have simultaneously escaped medical (apparently a looming Steve Rogers means everyone is too scared to sign either of us out) and have met up in the last place anyone will think to look: the store room at the back of the cafeteria. Phil munches on a donut and I sip a large cup of black coffee (it's never too late for coffee), while we lean against the wall and each other, listening to the angry shouts of the Avengers (and the occasional yelps of a rather cold Stark) in the distance.

"They sound mad." Phil muses, sounding so unbothered by the fact that the World's Mightiest Heroes are hunting us down that I have to smile. They're nothing compared to HYDRA after all.

"I still can't believe you disobeyed the strict orders of Captain America." I tease gently. "Breaking out of hospital in such an irresponsible manner, whatever will he think?"

"Steve might be my hero," Phil has the decency to blush as he says it, "but he's neither my commanding officer, nor my partner." He doesn't look at me, neither of us can bare looking at each other when we say sentimental things, because inevitably one of us will burst out laughing and ruin the moment. Instead he leans on me just a bit more, and I lean back. Supporting each other, just like it should be. "Besides, Medical is boring. And don't tell Clint I said that, because I'm being a giant hypocrite."

"Remember that time when you handcuffed Clint to the bed in Medical with the unpickable, unbreakable cuffs from SciTech? I don't think I've ever seen to someone resort to flicking rubber bands at people as a threat before."

"Or throwing his water glass at my head when I brought paperwork because he was a 'captive audience'." I can feel Phil grinning in the darkness. "I don't think I've ever moved so fast. Or, as a matter of fact, have I ever seen Romanoff so smug."

"Well, she did tell him not to pick a fight with Wolverine. In front all the X-men. At Xavier's Mansion." We both roll our eyes at the memory. Clint never has got over his grudge with the X-men's leader after their first…encounter all those years ago, but since no-one can really argue with Xavier's kind smiles and mild-mannered charm (except Nick Fury, who could pick a fight in an empty room), Clint's ire had pretty quickly landed on Logan, who couldn't resist rising to the archers taunts every single fucking time.

And people wonder why we take great pains to keep the X-men and the Avengers separate.

"So…" Phil starts awkwardly, having polished off the last of his donut.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"I will be fine."

"I know."

"You do?"

"You're the strongest person I know Maria, the strongest person I've ever known. You've survived the events of your past so many more times than you ever should've had to, you can survive it this time and you'll survive it in the future. Hell, you conquer your past every single day just to come to work and help save the world, like everyone else in this god forsaken place."

Oh yes, I've conquered many things. I like to think I'm strong, unbreakable even. But in the last year, I'd realised there was one thing that could break me.

Losing Phil Coulson.

"Thanks Phil." I say quietly, subdued by the memories of the thing that really haunts me.

Because if Phil is alive, I can deal with anything. Fury, the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D, HYDRA, paperwork, the X-men, the Fantastic Four, torture and pain and death and loss; it can all tremble before me.

After all, I've never been worse off than when I thought Phil Coulson was dead for those two weeks, seven hours forty three minutes and twenty five seconds. And Nick Fury has never been more scared than when I found out he'd been lying to me.

Because Phil is my partner, and I would've walked into Hell to get him back.

And punching Fury square in the face definitely wasn't as bad as that.

Remember the foreshadowing about Loki's eyes, because it should be important next chapter. I think. It will be about Loki though. and hopefully it should be out on April Fools.

Review?