Chapter Text
"What do you think about this one?" Natasha asks.
Maria glances over the top of a rack full of winter coats to spot her holding up a gaudy Christmas sweater. It's three sizes too big, made entirely out of some flimsy, thin material that provides no protection against the cold, and is bright red with colorful bits of felt and bells hanging off the front in an approximation of a reindeer face.
It almost looks like something off the racks of Spirit Halloween (the googly eyes are holding on by a thread and a prayer, haunted in a way that showcases a mere glimpse of the untold horrors they've seen) that someone made the unfortunate mistake of paying money for, only to ditch it at the thrift store the next day.
Basically, it's one of the ugliest things she's ever seen. "Looks nice," Maria lies while busying herself with the coats. Although they've been trying this new thing called unconditional honesty with each other, she can't find it in her heart to make fun of something Natasha might genuinely enjoy, no matter how hideous. "Do you like it?"
In the corner of her vision, Natasha raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "It's not for me."
"Oh, thank god."
"Captain America, on the other hand." Natasha purses her lips in deep thought, pinching the fabric by the shoulder seams to inspect it at arm's length. She shakes it around, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips at the light jingling of tiny bells. One of the googly eyes is even loose enough to threaten defection at the slightest bit of force. "Kinda matches those baby blues of his, don't you think?"
"In what world?"
"This one," Natasha muses, "where he receives a thoughtful gift from a dear friend and feels obligated to wear it for the rest of the holidays."
"And if that dear friend just so happens to get a few dozen pictures out of it for blackmail?"
"Commander," Natasha chides. "I'm not sure I like what you're implying."
"And what would that be?"
"The idea that someone such as I—" She drapes the sweater over an arm and flourishes into a dramatic bow, crimson hair cascading past her shoulders and covering her face. When she straightens, it's with a poorly hidden smile at the snort pulled from Maria. "—would ever stoop to such unsavory tactics."
"Right."
"Tactics befitting a scoundrel. A cad."
"As if the agent with the longest disciplinary record in SHIELD would ever try something so shady."
"Clint has the longest record," Natasha retorts.
"Only because he actually got caught."
"Exactly," Natasha huffs. "You have no proof. And the only marks I got were from the times he dragged me down with him."
"I guess I just imagined all the times my dry erase markers were replaced with permanent ink, and the times my coffee supply was swapped to decaf."
"You'd guess right."
Maria shakes her head with a fond amusement, noting the devious gleam in the other woman's eyes. Natasha has been genuinely relaxed today, free of the masks she'd usually slip into in public, and it's a better look on her than any outfit they could possibly find at this store. "Now that I think about it," Maria concedes. "That sweater would go great with some bright green shorts."
"Shorter the better?"
"Naturally."
"I knew you had good taste, Hill."
Maria doesn't reply, I'm dating you, aren't I? because they’re still in public, and although she and Natasha have a better idea of what to call this relatively new development between them, no one else knows that anything happened between them at all.
A few people might suspect—Nick, judging from his curious tone over the phone the last time they spoke, and maybe Clint because he and Nat are thick as thieves—but overall they’ve been extremely careful, especially in the wake of Natasha’s radio silent, five-month-long internal crisis.
So instead of pulling the other woman into a kiss right then and there, Maria chimes in with, “I hope you know this plan of yours has every opportunity to backfire spectacularly.”
"Plan?" Natasha gasps, appalled. "My intentions are pure.”
“Of course,” says Maria. “And I definitely didn’t walk in on Rogers and Barton colluding in the kitchen this morning while stockpiling cans of whipped cream and frosting.”
That has the spy pausing with a blink. “They wouldn’t.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Natasha licks her lips, a crease forming between her brows. “If Steve has been corrupted so deeply by Clint to the point where he’s going along with pranks, I really have missed out on a lot.”
They don't talk much about Natasha's mysterious five-month stint in Europe, but Maria gets the basic gist of what happened—that the idea of love was enough to scare her into hunting down some old enemies. She can tell Natasha isn't necessarily trying to hide things from her, but in the week she's been back, their relationship has been in a tenuous (albeit still positive) place.
Besides, some things are best revealed over time.
“There was a snowball fight," Maria murmurs in a low, falsely somber tone. "Friendships were ruined. Allegiances shifted.”
"That explains it."
"Never underestimate the sheer pettiness of superheroes."
Natasha hums, seeming to roll around a thought in her brain. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
Maria raises her eyebrows.
“We'll have to up our game.”
"'We?'"
Natasha pouts, and it's the smallest, most discrete extension of her lower lip that the average pedestrian wouldn't give a second glance to, in a rather unfair display of adorableness for Maria's eyes only. When it comes to her, a lot of the things she does are unfair, frankly—and it only gets harder with each passing day for Maria to keep their secret. "You're going to make me do this all by myself?" Natasha adds with a playful huff.
"You're dragging me into a war I want nothing to do with, Romanoff," Maria drawls, forcing her expression into an unaffected one to weather the reality of her quickening pulse.
"C'mon," she argues. "Steve has Clint, so I'll need a partner, too."
"You can run circles around them in your sleep."
"That's beside the point."
Before Maria can retort, however, there’s a quiet shuffling in the next aisle over that sobers the mood entirely. Earlier, they clocked the man at the door by his shifty disposition and darting eyes that had a tendency to linger a little bit too long on Natasha, but he's been keeping his distance for the most part—until now.
Judging from the obvious display of interest, anyone who would pose an actual Avengers-level threat would be out of the question, but Maria can't help but stiffen at the sudden proximity.
While they're not exactly in disguise at the moment, the two of them were hoping to avoid this kind of attention during their Christmas shopping out on the town—though it's easier said than done when one of them has their face plastered on a billboard in Time Square. Still, overeager fans are far more preferable than the ones who try to be sneaky about it, and Maria has half a mind to pin this guy to a wall and demand what his deal is.
Natasha gives Maria an amused look, like she knows exactly what's going through her head. "Don't break this one, please?"
"I only break things when necessary."
“I think we both know that’s not true,” Natasha teases, referring to the numerous dismantled pieces of furniture stuffed in a safehouse closet that have fallen victim to their most recent bout of horny carelessness.
Cheeks warming at the memory, Maria insists, "My argument still stands."
Natasha winks, cheeky and all-too-knowing, and heads over to the next aisle. Maria follows, knowing the other woman can handle herself but not wanting to be too far away in the event that the guy turns out to be more than just a casual fan.
One can’t be too careful, especially these days.
Yet, she can't be seen having too much of a personal investment in her own girlfriend's safety apparently, so she hovers at the end of the aisle instead with most of her body obscured by the protruding fake wreaths and tiny bare Christmas trees propped up on the shelves.
"Hi, there," Natasha announces herself, the hint of a smile in her tone, but her movements are purposeful in a way that betrays the attentiveness lurking beneath her otherwise friendly veneer. It's a carefully crafted façade that Maria has seen through a screen hundreds of times before—dozens of times in person—and it never fails to amaze her, even after all their years of working together.
The man is over six feet tall and looks to be in his late twenties, clean shaven and wearing a buttoned-up heavy trench coat that falls to his knees. His nervous fidgeting escalates the closer Natasha gets—and Maria narrows her eyes when his grip tightens around an object in one of his coat pockets.
"Can I help you with something?" Natasha asks with an innocent tilt of her head, though their height difference is so vast, she has to crane her neck to peer up at him.
"You're the Black Widow," says the man in a deep, rumbling voice.
"I am."
"You—" He tenses up, gripping the item in his pocket tighter.
Maria straightens, nerves on a hair trigger.
"Do you mind?" The man blurts out suddenly and, with a quick motion, whips out the item from his pocket. "I'd love to get a picture with you."
A smartphone.
Maria releases a slow breath through her nose and has to remind herself to unclench her jaw, trying to ignore the sudden itching on her trigger finger.
"Of course," Natasha replies, light and unbothered. She hasn’t so much as shifted her weight throughout the entire interaction. "I always have time for fans."
"Thank you so much," he gushes like a groupie allowed backstage for the first time, rambling and stumbling through his words. "You're, like, the coolest Avenger ever, and I’ve been saying that you don’t deserve all the flack you get on the internet, like, at all. They all seem to forget all the good you've been doing lately, like some selective memory kind of thing. So bizarre." He swaps over to the front-facing camera. "Besides, most of them are just some chronically online losers anyway, so fuck ‘em, right?”
“Fuck ‘em,” Natasha agrees.
“Right. And,” he continues, handing the phone over and bending to get his face in the frame, but he struggles a bit to get down to her level. "Everyone always talks about Cap or Iron Man, and they're super cool, of course, but you're even cooler—"
"I think you're going to have to take the photo," Natasha interrupts with a patient smile, handing the phone back.
"Right, uh," he stammers. "Right. Sorry."
"No worries."
"Let me just—" The man snaps the photo from a higher angle before stepping back and sheepishly pocketing the phone once again. "Thanks so much."
"Sure thing."
"You're great, and sorry for bothering you."
"Not a bother," says Natasha. "Although, maybe think twice before following women around a store."
His eyes go wide. "Oh. Oh. I can totally see how that would come off as—"
"Yeah."
"That was not my intention at all."
"Just something to think about."
"Yeah," he nods frantically. "No, you're totally right. My bad."
"Anyway." Natasha steps away, clearly trying to end the conversation before he spirals even further. "Have a nice day, and happy holidays."
Maria side-eyes the man as he exits the store with more haste than before, cheeks flushed red and the collar of his coat flipped up in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. The worker at the front desk flipping through her phone with headphones on merely raises an eyebrow before getting back to the bunch of nothing she was doing before.
"You have the patience of a saint," Maria scoffs in disbelief as Natasha sidles up to her again. Her pleasant, public-facing mask is still firmly in place, and Maria inwardly curses that she wasn't able to take a crack at the guy for that reason alone.
"He wasn't so bad."
"He was following us for an hour."
"Details, details." As the two of them approach the checkout counter, the worker barely acknowledges them, speeding through the process with a detached efficiency that Maria is strangely grateful for. "Pepper has been getting on my case lately about raising my public image," Natasha explains. "Something about building trust in the community after the SHIELD data leak and everything that's happened with Sokovia and the Accords."
"I don't think the sentiment extends to stalkers," says Maria, "but Pepper might have a point."
Natasha chews on her lip, thoughtful.
"The team's been working on community outreach these past few months." Mostly within their own fields of interest, with Tony volunteering at some of the local high schools and Steve helping vets assimilate back into society. Working with the community not only benefits the people, but it also helps the Avengers retain their perspective of who exactly they're fighting for—something that's been a particular point of contention after Lagos. "It's not a solution to the larger issues by any means," Maria adds, "but the little things add up over time, and actions speak louder than words."
"I know, I know." Natasha grabs their bags off the counter. She murmurs a small "thanks" to the worker, who gives a disinterested nod in response, before heading toward the exit.
"I could give you a few charity recommendations, if you'd like."
"I have a few in mind, actually."
Maria takes hold of all the bags at once and hoists them over her shoulder, pointedly ignoring the unimpressed eyebrow she gets in return. "Oh?"
"I've been donating to a few different ones around the city, but perhaps it's time I take a more hands-on approach," Natasha notes. "I just worry my presence would have the opposite affect."
"For what it's worth," Maria adds. "I'm sure these places could do a lot worse than a hero taking a personal interest in them."
"Hero, huh?" Natasha exhales through a bitter smile. "Guess we'll see."
It's only when they've stepped back out onto frostbitten streets that Maria's posture relaxes fully into her casual demeanor from earlier, free from the stress of work and responsibilities during her first day off in over a year.
She's racked up quite a few vacation days during her time at Stark Industries, to the point where Pepper had to step in and force her to use them. It's been a busy year with all the changes to the company in light of recent events, not to mention coordinating with the Avengers and various tips from anonymous sources (read: SHIELD).
Now, with the crisp New York City breeze coaxing a soft blush to her cheeks and ruffling through her raven hair, with the gentle chatter of passersby and the crunching of foot traffic through snow gracing her ears, she finally feels like she can breathe—and it's as strange a feeling as it is relieving.
At Natasha's amused side-eye, Maria chuckles and, with a curious tilt of her head, asks, "What?"
"Nothing."
"We're doing that 'honesty' thing, remember?"
Natasha simply hums, stuffing her pinkish hands into the pockets of her coat. Maria tries not to think about her own protected fingers beneath woolen gloves, how she'd rather take those freezing hands between her own to warm them up, skin to skin, as they make their way through the streets, open and proud.
Maybe something crosses her face that gives away her thoughts because the next thing she knows, Natasha is pulling her by the hand down a dingy alleyway, past dumpsters and scattered trash piled up along frosted brick walls. They take a right turn, then a left, and by the time they come to a stop, the bustling sound of traffic from the main road is but a distant memory.
The smell of freshly baked bread hits her senses, the only indication that they've wandered behind the bakery around the corner from the thrift shop, out of view from any sort of surveillance or onlookers.
Maria barely has time to register their newfound privacy before her back hits the wall, her resulting gasp muffled by the warm press of Natasha's lips on hers. "This is new," she murmurs into the kiss, groaning softly at the teasing nip to her lower lip. With one hand taken up by all their bags, carefully lifted so as not to brush the dirty concrete, her other manages to tangle into scarlet strands and hold the other woman close. "We're one badly-timed smoke break away from being found out," she teases without any real worry behind it. "What happened to being discrete?"
"Your fault," Natasha breathes.
"How's that?"
"It's illegal to be so stupidly attractive."
Trailing hot kisses down her neck, Maria teases at the spot below her ear that has Natasha shivering in her arms for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold. "It's the new haircut, isn't it?" The way Maria nips at the skin there, eager yet not hard enough to leave any lasting marks, and follows up with a soothing brush of her tongue drags a moan from Natasha's throat. "Admiring your work?"
"That's part of it." Fingers thread into the freshly cut ebony strands, exploring their handiwork up close and personal and teasing at the sensitive hairs on the base of Maria's neck. It's short enough in a way that's easily kept out of her face yet still long enough to pull—Natasha's only condition and one that Maria gladly accepted.
"What's the other part?"
"Two parts," Natasha hums, the end of it trailing off into a soft chuckle. "You were riled up earlier. Intense. Do I bring out your protective instinct, детка?" Baby.
"You already know the answer to that, Natka," Maria murmurs directly onto flushed skin, relishing in the soft gasp it elicits. She isn't a possessive person by any means, but she's learned what it means to protect the important things—how fragile and fleeting they can be otherwise. "And the other?"
Natasha takes a moment of reprieve, leaning into the embrace with her forehead gently rested on the curve of Maria's shoulder, tucked just beneath her jaw. Their heavy breaths mingle in the air between them, cloudy and warm before dissipating into the ether. "Vacation is a good look on you," she murmurs, the rumble of her voice as calming as a purr against Maria's chest.
Admittedly, their shared time off has been an unexpected yet welcome boon. Rarely do they get the opportunity to enjoy the sights of the city and indulge in the simple pleasures of uninterrupted everyday life. Maria has never been so appreciative to pick up eggs and milk without the threat of a global catastrophe hanging over her head, and though it never lasts for long, she'll take the wins where she can get them.
She doesn't dare entertain the idea of retirement for people like them, but if things ever were to quiet down long enough to establish something resembling roots, that sense of stability wouldn't be such a horrible thing to come home to at the end of the day.
Wandering fingers come up to play with the buttons at the front of Maria's coat before tracing along the collar to gently nudge her chin, bringing her gaze down to meet sparkling green eyes. There's a smile to them, a curve at the edges, that's entirely sincere—a side of Natasha that very few ever get the privilege of witnessing.
"I like seeing you happy," Natasha admits, a simple confession that means everything. "That's all."
And the moment is so heartfelt, so uniquely intimate to be shared in a filthy alleyway behind the bakery they frequent on the weekends, that all Maria can respond with is, "Aw," like the little shit she is.
"Shut up."
"You're sweet."
"I said," Natasha insists with a warning nip to her bottom lip before soothing away the sensation with a gentle caress of her own, curved upward at the corners to betray her growing amusement. "Shut up."
Maria laughs into the kiss, holding her tighter. "Yes, ma'am."
Before they get much further, two identical pings from their phones interrupt the moment, causing the both of them to sigh in tandem.
"You, too?" Natasha groans, burying her face into the lapel of Maria's coat. "Don't they know it's your day off?"
"No rest for the wicked," Maria cringes, simultaneously mourning a lazy evening on the couch and planning the quickest way to the Tower. "Avengers Assemble."
