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Natasha admires the control in Commander Hill.
She watches, not even trying to hide it. She and Hill have known each other for a long time, they can be considered good friends or colleagues who respect each other, so she can cast aside all the pretense. Natasha looks when there is such an opportunity and she likes what she sees.
She has seen growth from a simple agent (if Hill once had something simple) to Fury's right hand (which may have been his plan since Maria arrived at Helicarrier, who knows). Natasha could brag that she studied her well, but that would be a lie.
She knows Commander Hill - calculating, fair, dedicated and responsible. But Maria remains an unsolved mystery to her.
Natasha looks from her seat at the round table when they discuss the operation involving the capture of the important HYDRA base, how the face of Commander Hill is changing. For most people she is put together, as always, but it's all about tiny details. For example, the way her nostrils flare, barely noticeably. She clearly doesn’t like the plan proposed by Sitwell.
Control. Well-schooled military training, but at the same time something more, deeper, at the level of character. Hill is not one of those who are characterized by emotional outbursts. She calculates and thinks over; in the constant search for solutions and alternatives. It makes her effective in work.
And also it makes her a dangerous enemy. But they are on the same side.
Natasha stares at the unreadable face once more.
The best of it is to know that Hill is capable of normal human emotions. Natasha saw with her own eyes: slight smiles sent to Sharon Carter, annoyance at Fury's riddles, amusement in blue eyes because of Coulson's fan theories, stinging remarks towards agents, anger at politicians and bureaucracy, hell, even some playfulness in response to Natasha's flirting ...
But in the field and during the strategic planning of operations, only Agent Hill remains - the Commander - with a clear-cut voice, full control of the situation and strict orders. She argues with the Sitwell's plan after a couple of minutes. She provides arguments and puts everything in order.
Her voice never trembles. Controlled.
Natasha is not surprised.
***
“On your left.”
Hill wastes no time with unnecessary words. All her instructions are clear and to the point, and Natasha shoots a bullet at the HYDRA agent faster than he can understand what is going on. This mission is no different from hundreds of others.
To come — to get as much information as possible — to neutralize.
It's simple. Natasha moves towards the goal without fuss, and when the gun is put to her back, she almost purrs. Too easy. All villains are pretty predictable and like to chat, so she allows a couple of punches (lip bleeds, just for the show) and then listens to the typical villainous speech from Burnell the leader.
Boring. He tells her everything he thinks about the cute red-haired bitches and what he does with them in his free time; with passion he describes how he likes to keep her on hook like an obedient whore, and that he will send to SHIELD her insides (disgusting). He says unpleasant things that Natasha ignores, focusing on how he casually gives out really important information for which they actually came here.
He embarks on a colorful description of how he’ll bring her to her knees when a pair of his errand boys fall to the ground one after another, and then his gun flies to the floor too.
“You weren't in a hurry,” Nat observes with a wry grin.
But Hill doesn't look, not responding to the playful comment. She looks different from what she was in the command center. Her tied up hair is disheveled and there is a small scratch on her uniform (not deep, but enough to let some blood). But it's not just the obvious things.
Hill is different. She seems furious: her eyes are darker by several shades of the usual blue, and her voice is a little hoarse:
“Repeat that again, and I will bring you to your knees.”
She slams his head against the concrete with a dexterous movement, forcibly pulling out a dull groan and some curses. Bright spots of blood appear on the dirty gray. And suddenly the situation doesn’t seem normal anymore. Hill is acting weird. It seems like a couple more blows and she will finish Burnell right here. These are not her methods.
Natasha slightly frowns her eyebrows, keeping her gaze on how tense Hill is under the uniform and how sharp her features look like.
“Hill.”
Hill closes her eyes in a long, silent breath. It takes a moment for her to open them back and loosen her grip. She looks like herself again.
“We've heard enough.”
***
Natasha thinks Hill expects her to come because she doesn't seem surprised when Nat is at the door of her room. She just nods, letting her inside.
“Come in.”
It was a long day, and if you look closely, she looks a little tired. But Natasha probably doesn't look any better. She goes inside, and then stops and turns to face Maria.
“You were acting strange today.”
In a different situation, Natasha wouldn't start with this, but now is not the case when you want to beat around the bush. Maria is in no hurry to answer. She stands close enough - Natasha manages to notice pale spots of freckles on her nose and shadows from long eyelashes.
She always loved looking at Hill, there is no secret about that.
“Nothing personal, Romanoff, the guy was not lucky to catch me in my bad mood.”
Slightly raised tense shoulders betray her discomfort. Natasha remembers their old missions, when Maria was more often in the field than in the command center; and she has already run through the recent events in her head several times.
She has her guesses. She says, taking another careful step towards (this distance can already be considered unacceptable, but Maria doesn’t move):
“You never lose control.”
Hill meets her gaze directly, but continues to stand like a soldier in front of a senior in rank. She makes no more attempts to justify herself. She breathes evenly, too even, as if she is counting every exhalation and inhalation.
Natasha has known her for almost ten years.
Ten years is a long time. Ten years is a bridged eternity, because with their work there is no guarantee that tomorrow will come.
Natasha has known her for ten years, but for the first time she notices a gap in Maria’s armor. A small crack that makes it possible to see what Maria hid so carefully. One could be offended. But Natasha focuses on the positive.
She reduces distance to a minimum. Looks up to stare into Maria's eyes. Barely touches her chin with her nose, trying a reaction. Then presses her lips to the same spot and remains here.
Maria lets out a torn breath. Long fingers cling to Nat's shirt through resistance, crumpling the fabric. Control is slipping through her fingers.
“You could have said it a long time ago,” Natasha mutters, removing her lips from the warm skin, but not pulling away.
Maria smells of antiseptic after visiting the med bay, fresh laundry and gunpowder; not much, but noticeable if you stand close enough. Maria squeezes the fabric harder, and then pushes their lips together, losing this battle to herself. The air around is hot and charged, and the movements are chaotic, confused, broken. Too harsh, too hot, too dangerous.
Like a pulled trigger, which was squeezed for an impermissibly long time.
Maria kisses as if all ten years are closing around her neck. And Natasha pulls her closer, scratching the back of her neck with her nails. Too far, too long, too frenzy.
Natasha likes Maria's control. But she loves it even more when Maria loses it.