A/N: The only thing better than Black Hill is Scarlet Widow, but this fic is a stroll down memory lane, before I knew Wanda Maximoff was a thing. Besides, the world needs more lesbian/bisexual avengers.


Lucky – Chapter 8


He had never seen anyone put herself back together so fast. When she finally dried her eyes, she wound herself up like a clock, picking her way to the bathroom, creeping, almost, as if she was in unfamiliar terrain. He just waited, counted the seconds between his breaths, not quite sure what was going to happen next. When she emerged, she looked like marble again. Cold, hard; eyes guarded. We walked in silence to his car, showed up on time to work, together, solemnly. He could feel every cell of her body, on fire and waiting for the pay off.

He couldn't understand how he missed this, way before they even tried to date. It hit him in the middle of a briefing meeting: he hadn't looked too much into that exchange so long ago. Because trailing behind Bruce, whom he had assumed was receiving her look of pure adoration and love, was Hill, sparing a second of her hectic life to look back at her. Which was when she turned back to Steve, eyes shining and cheeks hue darker. That happiness he hadn't seen on her in a while.


He didn't mean to see it, not this time. He wanted to give her space, but he was passing on an overhead platform, pausing to take in the view of Headquarters, watching his coworkers going about their work; below him, an elevated walkway where Hill was on her phone. She strutted up, no terror to be found - only that signature spring in her step. She cleared her throat and Hill looked up with a grin, tucking her phone away.

"Ah, the elusive Natasha Romanoff," Hill chuckled, propping her hands on her hips, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Elusive?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, elusive. I haven't heard much from you the past couple months… Since you sang for me, really. I thought that mortified you, despite you having a beautiful voice."

She blushed, a light pink hue prominent on her sharp, pale cheekbones. "No, that wasn't it… I'm sorry. For avoiding you for so long." Silence hung between them, her studying the floor, Hill studying her.

"I missed you, Nat. You're one of… well, really… My best friend." Best friend. He sighed. He'd been so wrapped up in himself and jealousy that he hadn't paused to really think about any of her other friendships. Or who thought of her as a best friend as well – that explained the song. He had learned the answer to Hill's question after all. She took Hill's hand in hers, and the agent in turn rubbed slow circles across her calloused fingers.

"I have something to tell you," she murmured. Even from his ascended position, he could picture the confusion float across Hill's face, see her cock her head.

"Ok?"

She glanced over her shoulder; he knew she could tell they weren't really alone. She swept closer, staring at their hands. "About the singing…"

"Yeah?"

"Maria, remember when you asked if it was for Clint? And I never answered, really… It wasn't… I mean, I love Clint. But… not like that." She stared into Hill's eyes, trying to get the agent to see. He felt a sense of shame creep up his spine at his invasion of this private moment, and then a sense of hurt again at the back of this throat. But above it all, he felt pride at his best friend, his partner, finally feeling like she was able to embrace her true emotions. He knew her entire backstory by then; if he could ensure he gave her the space to just be, he knew he would never lose her company, be it completely platonic - he loved her nonetheless.

"So who was it for, then?" Hill asked. He snapped out of his self-reflection at the nervous thread in the agent's tone. She eyed Hill, fear clear in her ridged posture and sudden squeeze of their hands. Then she sighed loudly and leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on the back of Hill's hand before laughing, "It was for one hell of a woman."