Chapter Text
“I work alone.” Natasha crosses her arms over her chest. Her feet have been propped up on the corner of Coulson’s desk since she sat down across from him.
“That’s not true. You work with Barton.”
“You’re not sending me with Barton.”
Coulson inclines his head. “That is true. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the skill set needed for this particular mission.”
She shakes her head. “I can handle it on my own.” She’s been handling missions on her own since she was fourteen and ‘graduated’. And this one sounds much like a lot of her missions were for her previous employer. With less assassination. (At least at this point.)
“Look, we need to get someone in there with Stark’s R&D department.”
Natasha snorts. “Doesn’t have to be her.”
Coulson nods. “It does. Not only can she fit in with the - ”
“Nerds?” she snorts. (Although to be fair Natasha’s computer skills puts her firmly in that same category.)
“The other developers,” he continues as if she didn’t just interrupt him. “It also will help you with your cover. You know you’ll need Potts to trust you.”
She does know this. Tony Stark is rarely without Pepper Potts by his side. Natasha isn’t exactly certain of what their relationship is, but Natalie Rushman is likely to be looked at as a threat. “So you’re giving me a girlfriend?” She lifts an eyebrow. “What about Stark?”
A pained expression crosses Coulson’s face. “I don’t think a girlfriend will make you any less desirable.”
“Ew.”
“I know.” Then he sighs. “Natasha, this came from the Director.”
****
“You want me to what?” Maria should probably add a sir in there, but right now she is too surprised to remember that Nick Fury is her boss.
“Go undercover at Stark Industries.” He leans back in his chair and folds his hands.
“Yes, I got that part.” Again her tone is probably too flippant for a meeting with the Director of SHIELD. Too flippant for the man who personally recruited her. “And you want to give me a girlfriend.”
He nods as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Romanoff will go undercover as Stark’s assistant.”
She stares for a moment as Fury just placidly meets her gaze with his one good eye. She’s heard stories about what happened to the other, but she doesn’t think any of them are true. Then she chides herself. Grabbing on to the first thought swirling around her head, she says, “You know why I was discharged.”
Another curt nod. “I do.”
“Is that why you want me to - ”
“Absolutely not,” he says in an even voice. “I want you to go in because you are the best person for this job. Because of your computer skills.”
She eyes him, trying to decide if he’s telling the truth. And then she gives up. Nick Fury has likely forgotten more secrets than she’s ever known in her life. She won’t be able to deduce if he’s lying. So she latches onto another thought. “Romanoff’s supposed to get close to Stark. A girlfriend will put a damper on that.”
“Will it?” he lifts the eyebrow above the patch.
“Ugh.”
He grimaces. “I know.”
“Do you?” Still not the deferential tone she should take with her boss. Especially not when he has specifically called her to his office to brief her on this mission.
Putting his hands on the desk, he leans forward. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lean away from him and his one eyed stare. “I do. However, it’s necessary, Hill.”
She makes a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. “Yes, sir .”
****
Hill raps her knuckles once on the door.
“Enter.”
When she opens the door, Barton looks up and smiles. Romanoff doesn’t even acknowledge her existence. She’s flipping through a file and scribbling notes on a post it, lollipop stick hanging out of the corner of her mouth. Standing by the door, she looks around. There is a makeshift timeline on the whiteboard across from her. Romanoff stands, slaps the post it on the timeline and says, “At ease, soldier.”
Maria huffs, but adjusts her posture. And then internally berates herself for following Romanoff’s orders. Romanoff finally looks at her. “I hear we’re working together.”
She nods. “We are.”
Barton stands up and puts out his hand. “I’m Clint.”
She eyes him. She’s heard that, while he is very good at what he does (although why anyone would choose a bow and arrow in this day and age, she’ll never know), he’s also the human equivalent of a golden retriever. But to be polite, she shakes his hand. “Hill.” When Romanoff snorts, she amends, “Maria.”
“I’ve heard good things about you,” Clint says.
“Me, too.” His enormous, open grin makes it nearly impossible not to return a smile. So she decides to give in.
“Glad to know that Nat is in good hands.” Before she can say anything else, he’s gone.
“So,” Romanoff sits again, kicking her feet up onto the table, “tell me your cover.” She also indicates with her chin that Maria should sit.
She, however, elects to remain standing. To keep herself from returning to attention, she leans on the doorjamb and folds her arms over her chest. “Molly Halston. Just started with Stark Industries. After stints with Google and a couple of startups that have crashed and burned.”
“School?”
”Got into MIT. Couldn’t afford it. Went to U of Illinois. Graduated number three in her class.”
“Hmm.”
Maria raises an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
Romanoff scribbles on another post it, stands, and then brushes past Maria to place it on the timeline. She’s pretty sure the brushing up against her is deliberate. “Just trying to figure out how we met.”
Maria pushes off the wall and stands beside her, studying the timeline Romanoff has laid out. “Here.” She points to 2007. “You’re at USC. I could be at Google. Or one of those now defunct startups.”
Romanoff is silent for a long time. But Maria is patient. Finally she says, “So we’ve been together for nearly three years?” Then she leans against Maria. Who stiffens immediately. Romanoff barks out a laugh. “We’re gonna have to work on that.” She crunches the last of the lollipop and tosses the stick in the trash. “Come over.”
”What?”
“Come over. Tonight. My place.” She’s half way out the door when she turns back. “And bring dinner.”
****
“Oh my god.” Natasha doesn’t even bother covering her mouth with her hand. Or waiting until she’s swallowed. “This is so good.” Before she shovels another forkful in her mouth, she adds, “I’m starting to see how Natalie fell in love with Molly.”
Hill gives a smile. (The tiniest smile Natasha has ever seen. But, for now, she’ll take it.) “You helped.”
And she had. Hill had shown up, not with dinner, but with two brown paper bags full of the ingredients. And then she’d put Natasha to work with a smirk (more attractive than it had any right to be) and some words about her expertise with a knife. This time, she waits until her mouth is empty before grinning. “Molly cooks, right?”
Hill rolls her eyes. “Sure. Molly can cook.”
Natasha cleans her bowl in no time flat. If she were here with Clint instead, she would lick it. (Although Clint could never have made this. Laura could, but not Clint.) Just as she debates refilling her bowl, she eyes Hill. “Take down your hair.” It’s been in a low bun at the nape of her neck every time she’d seen her.
“What?”
“Your hair. Take it down. I want to see what you look like with it down.”
She doesn’t think Hill is going to do it. She contemplates ordering her to do it. Her reaction when Natasha had ordered her at ease plays in her mind. (And then she has a fleeting thought of ordering Hill while in bed.) Before she can follow through, Hill reaches up and undoes the bun, shaking her hair out. It’s shiny and just brushes her shoulders. Speaking of shoulders… “And your shirt. Take it off.”
Hill’s eyes widen and then narrow. She opens her mouth, probably to protest, but Natasha cuts her off. “I know you’ve got a tank top under. I’m not asking you to show me your tits, Hill.” A faint blush rises on Hill’s cheeks; it makes her seem more human. But she undoes the rest of the buttons on her flannel and shrugs it off. Yes, Natasha is definitely beginning to see what Natalie sees in her girlfriend. Those shoulders and arms. She meets Hill’s gaze and smiles slightly. “Natalie definitely noticed Molly’s…” She swears Hill squirms before she finishes. “Shoulders. Arms. She’s a sucker for biceps.”
“Is she?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Yep.” Deliberately, she pops the ‘p.’ “And what about Molly? What’s she see in Natalie?”
Hill sits back in her chair, carefully appraising Natasha. And it takes every ounce of her training not to squirm under her steady gaze. “Her eyes. She’s a sucker for girls with pretty eyes.”
Natasha blinks. That is not what she’s expecting. At all. Most men seem to notice her tits first. (Even the nice ones who pretend they don’t. Actually, maybe them the most.)
Hill barks out a laugh. “Did you want me to say something else, Romanoff?”
“Nat.”
“What?”
“Nat. Call me Nat.” Her brain catches up with her mouth and she tries to cover. “For Natalie.”
”Right. Natalie.” Hill looks at her a little too long.
“Are you Mols?”
“Ugh. No.”
“So I call you Molly?” Natasha asks. Then she grins. “Even in bed?”
Hill says nothing, pushing her chair back and taking her bowl to the sink. It takes a moment for Natasha to register that she’s started running the water. “Hey.” She stands and brings her own bowl to the sink. “You don’t have to clean up.”
“I’ll wash and you can dry.” Her tone makes it clear that she’s not going to be dissuaded so Natasha nods and fetches a towel from a drawer. When Hill hands over a clean fork, she lets her fingers linger; Hill withdraws her hand and clears her throat.
“You’re going to have to get used to me touching you.”
She makes a noncommittal grunt and scrubs at a bowl.
“Maybe you should kiss me.”
The bowl clatters in the sink. Hill picks it up. “No.”
Natasha is not deterred. “The first time we kiss cannot be when people are watching. They’ll know.”
“We won’t be kissing.” She pauses, concentrating on the dishes. “Molly’s not into PDA.”
“Not even when she’s had a little too much to drink and Natalie’s looking at her with those pretty eyes she loves?” Half of her mouth quirks up.
“Not even then. Because she doesn’t drink.”
Natasha stills for a moment. This feels personal. And she tucks the joke she would normally make behind her teeth. “OK,” she agrees mildly.
They finish the dishes in silence. As Natasha dries the last one, she starts to apologize. But only “I” gets out of her mouth before she’s interrupted.
“I should go. Thanks for dinner.” Hill pauses. “Nat.” She slides the towel from Natasha’s hands and dries her hands on it. She slips her flannel back on (which is a crime in Natasha’s opinion) and Natasha doesn’t quite want the night to end.
“I’ve got ice cream?”
Hill stops buttoning halfway up. “Yeah? What kind?”
“Chubby Hubby.”
It takes a long moment before she replies, “Well, that happens to be Molly’s favorite.”
“Great.”
****
Romanoff has been inching closer ever since the movie started. So Maria has had time to brace for what she imagines is coming. And about halfway through it does. Romanoff moves close enough that their sides are touching. Then she rests her head on Maria’s shoulder. But she’s mentally prepared enough that she doesn’t flinch. Or move away. In fact, she lifts her arm and wraps it around Romanoff’s shoulders. She tilts her head to look at Maria and does that smile thing where only half her mouth goes up. (Maria imagines that it gets her whatever she wants most of the time.)
“Good start, soldier.”
Wanting to nip that in the bud, Maria shrugs, “Molly’s not a soldier, you know.”
Romanoff leans away slightly and looks her in the eye. “And how exactly are you going to explain away…” She trails off, waving her hand in the direction of Maria.
She knows what Romanoff is getting at, but is not going to give her the satisfaction. She wonders if it’s possible to get her to squirm. (And then promptly dismisses visions of her squirming for other reasons. Maria has a job to do.). “Explain what?” she asks, brow furrowing.
Romanoff unfolds herself for the couch and stands upright. Nearly, but not quite, at attention. Then she lifts one perfectly sculpted red eyebrow. Maria shrugs. “Still not getting it.”
“This!” She flaps a hand in front of her. “You! How you stand, how you present yourself screams military.”
She sits back, arm draped over the back of the couch. “Huh.” When Romanoff’s face turns a bit pink, she relents. “I can stand like a normal person, you know.”
“Really?” The eyebrow is back up. “Show me.”
”I’m not - ”
”Show me.”
Somehow, before she can even process, she’s on her feet, taking a deep breath and relaxing her stance. Romanoff moves around her, looking her up and down, hand in front of her mouth. “That’s not normal.” Maria drops her shoulders, relaxes her hips. Romanoff shakes her head. “Maybe Molly’s from a military family.” It’s not a question.
Something winds itself around her legs and she peers down. It’s a black cat with a white patch on fur on its chest. Slowly, she squats down; the cat withdraws slightly. “Hey, buddy,” she says softly, clenching her fist and holding it out.
“Be careful. He doesn’t - ” The cat sniffs Maria’s hand once, twice and then rubs against it. “ - like…anyone.” When she looks up from the cat, Romanoff is staring.
“What’s his name?”
”Liho.”
She laughs deeply. “The embodiment of evil? Really, Nat?”
Romanoff shrugs. “He snuck in here one day. And never left. It seemed appropriate.”