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Maria Hill looked up from her desk and blinked at the intruder. Natasha Romanoff—target equals Black Widow not three months ago—was standing inside her office, back against the closed door, shoulders tense. This probably wasn't a pleasure visit.
"May I help you?" Maria asked, brows raised.
Natasha answered in that very deliberate tone of voice she used to give away nothing. "Everyone's being too nice."
Maria's brows went higher. Too nice? She thought back over the file they'd kept on Romanoff, the sordid details of her history from childhood in what could only be called a nasty business, and concluded that indeed, she probably had little experience with people being nice.
"Come hang out with me on your downtime," Maria offered. "I don't discriminate. I hate everybody."
Natasha studied her from those ageless, unreadable eyes for long past the length of time Maria was actually comfortable being in a staring contest with an assassin, but at last she nodded. "Coffee or lunch?"
Maria glanced at her groaning inbox. "Let's go with coffee, lunch to go."