"Sir, with all due respect, this is hardly necessary," Maria says.

"I agree with Deputy Director Hill's sentiment, sir," Jasper affirms.

Nick looks between the two agents standing before his desk and resists the urge to sigh. The Battle of new York—apparently that's what people are calling it—had occurred two days prior and he knows for a fact that neither of them had caught more than a ten minute cat nap in that time. They're fatigued in more ways than one, the exhaustion of sleeplessness and grief and stress combined to give them both a haggard look.

"You," Nick says, pointing at Maria, "are still dealing with a head injury. I went against my better judgment and refrained from putting you on medical leave because I couldn't afford to put you on medical leave. But now that the cleanup is sufficiently underway we can ease up a bit. So go home, take a proper shower, get some rest, take tomorrow off and come in the day after."

"I think I can speak on behalf of Agent Sitwell as well as myself when I say that I don't require a day off," Maria informs him tersely. "I was cleared for duty by medical and what I've been told is a minor concussion hasn't impaired my ability to perform my duties in any way."

"I'd prefer to remain on duty until all Chitauri weaponry has been accounted for," Jasper backs her up. "Just because the initial threat has passed doesn't mean we're out of danger, which means that due to our clearance levels we're both required to be on duty in the event of any further incidents."

Nick studies them both for a brief moment, taking in tired eyes but tall, steadfast postures. They're not going to leave short of him suspending both of them, which, frankly, he's not above doing. But at a time like this, the last thing he needs to be doing is sowing any further seeds of animosity. So he'll take a more direct approach. He leans back in his seat, the leather creaking softly in the otherwise quiet office, and folds his hands in his lap.

"We all know that when it comes to the death of a fellow agent in the line of duty, S.H.I.E.L.D. does not allow for bereavement leave," Nick explains. He pauses for the length of several heartbeats to let that sink in before continuing. "Deputy Director Hill, you are overdue for medical leave. Due to the nature of your injury, you will not be allowed to operate a vehicle yourself. Therefore, Agent Sitwell you are to escort Hill back to her residence and ensure that she remains there for the duration of time we had discussed previously. Have I made myself clear?"

It's apparent by the unhappy look they both share that, yes, he's made himself abundantly clear. As he dismisses them from his office, he watches them go and waits until the door has shut behind them before resting his head in one of his hands. He's tired in many of the same way they are, but there's no time to grieve.

He's got work to do.

Maria really wishes that Jasper hadn't insisted on driving… but Jasper had insisted on driving. And really, she'd been too tired to argue for once, so she'd just followed him to one of their black, uniform SUVs and had slipped into the passenger seat. Their ride is surprisingly silent; 'surprisingly' because they're usually full of piss and vinegar when it comes to each other.

It stems back some ten years or so, when she was a new recruit and he was a Junior Agent. He'd asked her out to dinner and being young, ambitious and too used to people refusing to take her seriously as a member of the 'fairer sex,' she'd rejected him outright. To be fair, she had rejected all of her suitors at the time and for many years after. You don't make Deputy Director by age thirty through loss of focus or lack of determination and for her that was the very definition of a relationship. Not to mention the prospect of fraternization; she'd heard enough rumors that she'd slept her way to the top without any of that, thank you.

Still, Jasper had seemed to take in stride, which is how all this had started. Over the years it had developed into teasing and prodding and generally taking shots at one another any chance they could get. Some days it was very nearly flirting, others she went home wondering just how many of the things he'd said he actually meant. Just as she wondered if she'd meant any of the things she'd said to him. That was their dynamic. That was what worked and she'd grown used to it over the years. In fact, maybe she'd even grown comfortable with it.

But there is none of that now. Jasper's gaze remains just focused enough on the road in front of them to get them safely where they're going, but even a quick glance tells her his mind is miles away. He's always one for a good laugh, but she doesn't think she's seen him crack anything even remotely resembling a smile in the past three days. Not that he's had any reason to, it's just that it looks so out of place on him, that complete lack of good humor.

"Let me bring your bag up," he offers.

"Bring yours with it," she tells him.

He squints at her, trying to figure her out, she knows.

"If you're anywhere near as exhausted as I am, then I don't think the citizens of New York will thank me for letting you try to drive back to your apartment," she clarifies. "You've got things to change into in your duffle. I've got a shower and a pull-out sofa bed. I think we can stand each other's company for one day."

She knows Jasper and Phil live in the same apartment building. It's better if he thinks she's asking him to stay for some reason other than the fact that letting him go back there tonight is a bad idea. To be honest, she's fairly certain he knows what she's up to, but if he does, he doesn't say anything. It's easier if they both lie a little.

"You're sure," he says to clarify, weighing the car keys in his hand.

"I'm sure I don't want to explain to Fury why you fell asleep at the wheel and killed half a dozen people," Maria says, opening the door and sliding out of her seat.

"You're too kind," he responds flatly, grabbing both their duffels.

Maria lies in bed, hands folded over her stomach as she stares at the ceiling and counts the ticks of the clock on the bedside table. She should be sleeping. She wants to sleep. Instead, she replays the events of the past few hours.

They'd both showered, quickly, economically. Jasper had thought to order take away while she was in the shower from some place that was actually still open despite the chaos of the past few days. It wasn't world class by any means, but she didn't have anything in her apartment to make a meal of, so neither of them were complaining. They'd both been quiet until Jasper had snorted and asked what it was about the agents considered to be S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best that equated to bare cupboards and empty refrigerators, because despite being an excellent cook, Phil's kitchen often looked precisely like hers.

But any humor to be found in the observation was gone in an instant and she'd found the smiles that had crept up on them had vanished as though they'd never been there in the first place. When the words "I'm sorry" had left her lips, she found that she really did mean them but that they didn't solve or change anything. They hadn't spoken after that aside from bidding each other goodnight.

So she lies in bed now and thinks of Jasper and thinks of Phil. There's just so much sentiment involved and it's frustrating. She hadn't planned on getting attached—to anyone. What right did any of them have to wound her this way? She had tried to maintain professional distance and despite her best efforts some of them had wormed their way in anyway. That's the problem with forming an attachment; it just leads to pain and distraction.

If she had any say in it, she wouldn't be thinking of the way Phil's eyes had always crinkled when he smiled and feeling a lump rise in her throat because of it. She wouldn't be wondering if Jasper is asleep or if he's thinking about the same things she is. She wouldn't be worried that he's thinking of the same things she is. And if she had any say in it, she wouldn't feel the need to leave her bed and creep silently to the living room.

But she doesn't have any say in it, so she does all of those things.

Maria finds that Jasper is in much the same position as she'd been. He's lying on his back, hands folded over his stomach, but his eyes are closed. In the dim light, she can see what looks like a frown on his face as she draws closer. He hears her, because he bolts upright quite suddenly, hand flying towards the sidearm resting on the arm of the sofa and hovering there uncertainly until he sees that it's only her.

"Do you need something?" Jasper asks.

She knows he's thinking of the bump she took to the head. "No. Go back to sleep."

He slowly lies back as she climbs onto the sofa bed. There is no look of suspicion, no questions asked as they settle in side by side. They lie there in the stillness, in the silence, saying nothing with their arms at their sides as they stare upward at the ceiling. They're close enough that their shoulders are touching and it's really not all that much effort to shift her hand in the space between them until her fingers brush his.

Wordlessly he spreads his fingers, making space for hers between them. Nothing is spoken but everything is understood. There will be time for words in the morning when they wake, time for truths in the harsh light of day, but for now there is only the still of the night and her hand on his.

It's enough.

They're still tentatively exploring a relationship one month later when Nick reveals that Phil is not, in fact, quite as dead as he'd lead them to believe. The Avengers will have to be notified, but he'd decided to let the two of them know first. Their car ride to the hospital is filled with angry words, most of which detail getting the Director back for daring to lie to them.

Phil is asleep when they arrive but wakes not long after. At the sight of the two of them together, he smiles blearily, his eyes crinkling fondly and Maria has to fight very hard to ignore the way that makes her chest constrict.

"Do you remember?" Phil asks Jasper, his voice a breathy rasp. "I said at the rate you were going… I'd die… before you two got together."

"Real funny, Chuckles," Jasper says, rolling his eyes. "Yuck it up."

"Too soon?" Phil asks.

"Is there a rule for how soon you can make jokes about your own death?" Maria wonders aloud.

None of them are quite sure.

Phil wears down quickly, but they decide to stay. Or they're afraid to leave. Maria thinks it might be the second one, but again, it's easier to lie to themselves a little.

"So," Jasper says quietly, after some time has passed. "Phil's alive."

"That does appear to be the case," Maria responds, looking to the man asleep in the hospital bed before them.

"Does that mean you're breaking up with me?" Jasper asks with a slow grin.

She scowls at him. It's not as though they'd gotten together because of Phil… but that had been part of it. Because he'd died and she'd realized that there were things she didn't want to miss out on, Jasper being one of them. Their lives were too uncertain to push away the things they might be. She kicks his ankle.

"Like you could get away that easily."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

It's far from perfect, what they have, but she's taken off running and she's got no intention of looking back.