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“Honey, I’m home,” Maria announced, using her shoulder to hold the door open while she carried the bags of takeout inside.
She kicked her shoes off onto the shoe rack and nudged them with the side of her foot, lining them up neatly next to Natasha’s.
“Over here,” a muffled voice rang out from the living room.
Maria walked into the living room, where Natasha was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling lazily through her phone. Maria’s eyes immediately went to the two shot glasses sitting on the coffee table, still empty beside the unopened bottle of vodka.
“You could’ve started drinking first,” Maria commented, setting the bags of takeout down next to the glasses.
“I’m not twenty anymore.” Natasha stretched out on the couch before pushing herself upright. “I’m old and I have acid reflux.”
Maria snorted. “You’re forty.”
“Exactly. Ancient.”
Maria hid a smile as she twisted open the cap of the vodka and poured them each a shot. “Happy anniversary, Grandma.”
“Fuck off,” Natasha scowled, though a smile soon tugged at her lips. “Happy anniversary, Masha.”
Maria began unpacking the food—Natasha’s pierogis to her side and Maria’s cheese pizza on the right, though they always ended up sharing.
“Twenty years,” Natasha murmured.
Maria glanced over her shoulder. “Twenty years.”
“Doesn’t feel that long,” Natasha sighed, shifting down to the floor.
“Tell me about it.” Maria settled down next to her with a grunt, her back aching after being on her feet all day.
She picked up her shot glass, clinking it against Natasha’s and knocking it back. Maria winced at the burn, coughing a few times. She glanced at Natasha, who was staring at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Not drinking?” Maria questioned.
“Acid reflux,” Natasha reminded her with a grimace.
“How the mighty have fallen,” Maria shook her head. “You used to outdrink everyone.”
“I was younger, and my Russian genes hadn’t failed me back then.” Natasha pointed an accusing finger at her. “You Americanised me. Now I can’t even look at vodka without getting heartburn.”
“You were drinking vodka like water,” Maria protested. “How is it my fault that you destroyed your esophagus?”
“If you recall…” Natasha cleared her throat for dramatic effect, “A handful of those times were because of you.”
“Oh, really?” Maria’s eyebrows shot up to her forehead.
“Exhibit A: our first date.”
2004
Maria sat in her Subaru, fiddling with the sleeves of her suit. She had borrowed it from Coulson, thinking it would fit like a glove since they were of similar height.
She was wrong.
The sleeves were too long, and the shoulders were too broad. Which was why she had folded and unfolded her sleeves over and over again. What had been once a perfectly ironed sleeve now crumpled at the edges. She looked absolutely ridiculous. At least, that was what she told herself.
Maria glanced at the clock on her dashboard. The reservation had been arranged for 7. She arrived at 6:30.
Now it was 7:30.
Maria looked out the window and stared across the street into the restaurant. Natasha had arrived a while back, strutting in wearing a backless red dress that clung to her curves. Her hair had been lightly permed, the soft red curls framing her face.
The first thought Maria had was that Natasha looked absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.
The second thought she had was that she had to leave. Now.
Maria swallowed nauseously, shifting the gear to reverse. This had been possibly one of the top ten stupidest things she had agreed to. A date with the reclusive, ex-red room assassin.
She hadn’t meant to let it get this far.
It had started with Maria saving her a seat in the briefing room, once, mainly because Fury had instructed her to keep Natasha away from Barton after the two had interrupted meetings one too many times.
Natasha started sitting next to her for the subsequent meetings, bringing in coffee for the both of them. Maria hadn’t been prepared for how equally funny and distracting Natasha could be. The Widow would lean towards her and whisper something only she could hear every time Fury did or said something frustrating, a smug look on her face whenever she got Maria to smile.
Maria wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t as senseless as people assumed she was. She knew that Natasha was starting to like her, and she knew that starting to reciprocate those feelings.
She allowed it as long as feelings stayed feelings and nothing more.
Then one day, Natasha had dropped by her office. She’d let herself in, walking over to Maria, looking so stiff and pale and gripping the table so tightly that Maria had braved herself for the news that her mother had died a second time.
“What’s up?” Maria looked up from the mountain of paperwork.
Natasha closed her eyes for a brief second, taking in a breath before getting the words out. “There’s an Italian place downtown that’s supposed to be good. Coulson went there with his…friend.” Natasha paused. “Anyways, Saturday dinner, if you’re free.”
In hindsight, she should have known where this was leading. Coulson had told them about the restaurant after a date with the harp player. Maria should have gotten the hint.
“Yeah, dinner works.” Maria shrugged.
“Good.” Natasha nodded, already turning toward the door. She made it halfway across the room before adding, almost as an afterthought. “It’s a date.” Then she was gone.
Maria’s stomach dropped, replaying the words in her head.
It’s a date.
Oh, fuck.
Maria reversed out of the parking lot space, making it approximately ten inches before she pulled back in.
“Fuck it.”
She put the car in park, grabbed the flowers off the dashboard and got out.
“You’re forty-three minutes late.” Natasha said flatly.
“I know,” Maria replied, holding out the flowers. “I was getting these. For you.”
There was a flicker in Natasha’s eyes as the crease between her eyebrows smoothened out. Natasha took the bouquet and inspected the flowers carefully, turning it around in her hands, a soft expression like Maria had never seen before on her face.
Then it disappeared.
“They still have the supermarket sticker on them.” Natasha said slowly, setting the bouquet down on the table.
The bright yellow ‘50% off’ sticker now faced the ceiling, exposed to anyone nosy enough to look over at their table.
It had been on purpose, of course. Just like every mistake Maria had made that evening. Little things, nothing too unforgivable, just enough to make sure the evening couldn’t possibly go too well.
Maria shrugged carelessly, taking a seat across from her.
“Good evening, Madams,” the waitress greeted them. “Could I get you any wine to start?”
Maria shook her head. “No thank you, I’m driving.”
“And for you?”
“Vodka.” Natasha replied, snapping the menu shut. “And leave the bottle.”
Present Day
Maria groaned. “I thought we agreed not to talk about that anymore.”
“You were sabotaging the date.” Natasha teased. “Mrs. Scared-of-Commitment.”
“Stop.” Maria moaned.
Natasha sighed wistfully, leaning back against the couch. “I guess our twentieth anniversary is as good a time as any to tell you something.”
Maria glanced at her expectantly.
“You thought you were the only one manipulating the situation?” Natasha raised a brow.
Maria paused, setting down her half eaten slice of pizza. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, Masha.” Natasha shook her head with a grin. “So naive, so precious.”
“Natasha.” Maria’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I caught on to what you were doing the moment you were late.” Natasha said. “Maria Hill not being at least 15 minutes early was as good as telling me your entire plan.”
Maria rolled her eyes at that.
“Besides, I could see you from where I was seated.” Natasha pointed out. “Getting cold feet. Either that, or you were just terrible at parallel parking.”
“I wasn’t…”. Maria trailed off.
Natasha gave her a look.
“Fine, I was.”
“I knew if I had drank that much,” Natasha continued, “you would have to drive me back,”
Maria stared at her.
“And knowing you, even at your most avoidant asshole moment, you would walk me back to my room.” Natasha shrugged. “You’re chivalrous like that.”
“You drank half a bottle of vodka just so I would walk you back to your room?”
Natasha smiled faintly. “I wanted to be seen with you.”
Maria’s gaze softened. “Oh.”
Natasha shrugged. “I’d never been on a proper date before, you know that. I’d been on thousands, but…none of them were real.”
Maria looked down at the ground, staring at a stain on the rug.
“Not many people were exactly lining up to date me,” Natasha continued. “Even when you were being an ass, you never tried to take advantage of me.”
“I was such an ass.” Maria mumbled.
“Yeah,” Natasha smiled, “but you’re my ass.”
Maria looked up. “Always.”
Natasha’s smile softened. “Even though you tried your hardest to mess it up, it was still the best date I’d ever been on.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “It was the best one I thought I’d ever get.”
“You deserved better than that,” Maria whispered.
“I didn’t want better.” Natasha shook her head. “I just wanted you.”
Maria looked away, blinking quickly a few times.
“Aw, getting soft on me, Hill?”
“Shut up,” Maria laughed.
She reached for another slice of pizza. “Okay, but, that was one time,” she pointed out. “You said a handful of times.”
A slow smile spread across Natasha’s face. “Exhibit B: The afterparty of New York.”
2012
Maria had been staring at the same report for twenty minutes. The words had begun blurring together, half from exhaustion and half from the tears that kept welling up in her eyes.
Her body was still sore from being flung around by a grenade. Every movement highlighted some new bruise, but she barely registered it anymore. There were more important things to worry about.
Casualty numbers, property damage, people who were still missing.
Coulson.
A knock interrupted her thoughts. Maria quickly wiped at her eyes.
“Come in.”
Natasha appeared in the doorway, already showered and changed out of combat gear. She had a small smile, which faded slightly when Maria looked up.
“Hey.” Maria cleared her throat, pushing the corner of her lips up into a smile, painfully aware of how unconvincing it was.
“Hey.”
Natasha stepped inside, leaning against the doorframe. “They’re doing a little celebration downstairs.”
Maria let out a light scoff. “A celebration?”
“We stopped aliens today.” Natasha shrugged. “Aliens, Maria. I think I need a drink to process that.”
Maria stared blankly at the report.
“I’m not really in the mood, Natasha.” She whispered.
“I know.” Natasha’s gaze flicked toward the reports on her desk. “But you’ve been here for hours, at least get out of that suit and go get some rest.”
“I need to finish these.” Maria insisted.
“You can do it tomorrow.”
“There’s too much.” Maria shook her head. “I-”
She paused, swallowing as her eyes welled up again. “Coulson’s dead, Nat.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how…” she pressed the back of her hands against her eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t.”
Maria expected her to argue. To tell her that Coulson wouldn’t want her sitting around mourning. Instead, Natasha walked over and closed her laptop.
“Natasha.”
“You don’t have to celebrate.” Natasha reached out to Maria’s bun, removing the hair tie that held her bun together. Her hair fell around her shoulders. “Just…come and have a drink with me.”
“Nat.”
“Avoid our feelings together?” Natasha raked a hand through Maria’s hair, smoothing it out.
“That’s your pitch?”
“Mmhmm.” Natasha tilted her head slightly, her expression softening further.
“One drink.”
“One drink.” Natasha held out her hand.
Maria looked down at it before taking it. Natasha pulled her gently to her feet, then slipped the hair tie around her own wrist.
By the time they reached the common room, the men were already well into their third or fourth beers.
“Romanoff!” Tony called out when she arrived. “Brought a guest, I see.” He nodded towards Maria. “Agent Hill.”
“We are here to drink our sorrows away and nothing else.” Natasha warned him, pulling Maria to take a seat next to her.
“Oh, we’re all doing that,” Tony assured her.
Clint glanced over at Maria. “You okay, Hill?”
“I’m fine.”
“Where’s Banner?” Natasha asked. “Or Steve.”
“Banner wasn’t in the mood to socialise,” Tony replied. “And the old man went to bed already.”
“Already?” Maria scoffed. “It’d barely ten.”
“Exactly.”
Tony tossed a beer over to her, which she caught with one hand easily. She wanted something a lot stronger.
Still, she cracked it open, taking a long sip.
Half the bottle was gone.
Next to her, Natasha squeezed her arm without looking over.
“I’m fine,” Maria murmured, taking another sip.
Natasha hummed, sounding unconvinced but not pressing.
Tony was halfway through the retelling of his day, giving them an extremely detailed description of the wormhole.
Maria would’ve been annoyed if she’d had to sit through this 5 hours ago. But she knew better. She had seen the haunted look on his face when he had returned. Tony wasn’t bragging, he just needed to talk.
“And then I redirected the nuclear missile into it.” He continued, “And I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. My call to Pepper wasn’t going through.” He paused, then looked at them, his gaze drifting to Natasha’s hand still wrapped around Maria’s arm.
“Huh.” He tilted his head. “Didn’t know you ladies were close like that.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “We’re both women who’ve been working in the same male-dominated field for seven years. Of course we’re friends.”
Across them, Clint snorted, hiding a smile as he stared intensely at his beer.
“Right,” Tony nodded once, raising his beer to them. “Women’s solidarity.”
“Exactly.”
“Anyways, so there I was, falling through space…” he continued, gesturing wildly with his beer as he described falling back through the wormhole..
By the time he reached the end of the story, Maria had finished her beer.
“That was fast,” Natasha murmured.
“I needed it.”
Tony tossed her another bottle.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Natasha reminded her. “You agreed to one, you can just have one.”
Maria looked down at the new bottle in her hand. “I broke the one drink policy in my head after the first sip of that beer.”
Natasha said nothing in reply, just squeezed her arm again and shifted closer.
Tony watched the exchange, pushing himself up. “You know what this party needs? Shots.”
Clint groaned. “Stark.”
Tony ignored him, walking over to the bar and bringing over two bottles of vodka.
He lined up four shot glasses, pouring an equal amount into each one and pushing them across the table.
He lifted his glass into the air, as if preparing to make a toast. “To Agent Coulson.”
Maria blinked, swallowing the lump in her throat as she raised hers. “To Coulson,” she said quietly, ignoring Natasha’s glance to her direction.
“To Coulson,” Clint echoed.
Natasha raised her glass. “To Phil.”
Maria knocked hers back. The vodka burned the back of her throat, sharp enough to make her eyes water.
“God,” she coughed into her fist.
“You okay, Agent Hill?” Tony teased.
“Perfect.”
“That’s the spirit.”
A sharp laugh escaped her mouth. Maria covered her face, her shoulders shaking as she laughed uncontrollably.
The room was quiet. Even without looking up, she knew that they were all looking at her. She didn’t even want to imagine the look on Natasha’s face.
“He said…” she gasped between laughs, “That’s the spirit. Like….” Another burst of laughter escaped her. “Like spirits.”
She pointed unsteadily at the vodka. It only made her laugh harder. Maria buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling as she tried and failed horribly to catch her breath.
“Okay,” Clint muttered. “Hill’s officially broken. The world is ending.”
Natasha finally reached over, pulling one hand away from her face and touching her cheek gently.
“Hey.”
Maria peeked at her through watery eyes.
“Hi.”
Natasha smiled faintly. “You okay?”
Maria nodded, still fighting another laugh.
Natasha studied her for another second before brushing her thumb beneath Maria’s eyes.
“Okay.”
Maria sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hands.
“I’m okay.”
She calmed down after a while, taking slow deep breaths while Natasha made her drink a glass of water.
“I’m a genius.” Tony suddenly said.
“Tony,” Natasha groaned.
“No, no, hear me out.” Tony put up his hands and paused, definitely for dramatic effect. “We need a drinking competition.”
Maria stared at him with red rimmed eyes. “You came up with that when I was crying?”
“Well, crying-laughing.” Tony corrected. “And it got me thinking. What makes people feel better than alcohol? More alcohol.”
“That’s not true.”
“You ever see someone drink a whole bottle of alcohol and still look sad?” Tony pointed to Maria.
“Hey.”
“No, because they’d be dead.” Clint stared at him blankly.
Tony reached for the vodka and started lining up the shot glasses again. “Alright, teams. Romanoff.” Tony nodded.
“Oh, no way.” Clint shook his head. “The russian and the man with an alcohol problem, versus me and the…” Clint gestured towards Maria’s direction vaguely. “Lightweight.”
“Hey,” Maria said weakly.
“I propose me and Natasha, and you and Hill.” Clint suggested.
“Absolutely not.” Maria and Tony said in unison.
“Then, I guess there’s only Hill and I. Stark and Barton.” Natasha said calmly.
“Works for me.” Tony said immediately.
Natasha looked at Maria. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What are the rules?” Maria asked, avoiding her gaze.
“Masha.”
Tony’s eyebrows shot up at the nickname. He didn’t comment on it, probably the smartest decision he had made that day.
“I want to.” Maria insisted.
Natasha studied her for another moment before nodding. “Okay.”
Tony clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Rules. We alternate teams. One person from each team takes a shot, then we switch. Simple as that. And if someone drops out,”
Everyone turned to Maria who scowled.
“Their teammate has to keep drinking for them.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not letting them win that easily.” Natasha grinned.
“Who said I was tapping out?” Maria challenged.
Natasha gave her a look, then shook her head with a smile and said nothing. Then she turned back to the men. “Let’s make it fun.”
“Oh yeah?” Clint raised his brow. “What do you suggest, Romanoff.”
Natasha pretended to think for a moment. “Losing team has to kiss.”
The room fell silent again.
Maria hid a smile and looked down at the ground.
“It’s only a problem if you lose,” Natasha said.
“Stark,” Clint warned. “We better win.”
“I was going to tell you the same thing.” Tony shuddered. “Ugh.”
Natasha picked up her glass. “Ready?”
“Romanoff.” Tony said.
Natasha knocked back her shot without hesitation. “Stark.”
Tony followed, clearing his throat once. “Hill.”
Maria picked up her glass, hesitating before knocking it back. “Barton.”
Clint downed his, grimacing at the burn.
“Round two.”
Natasha started again, barely reacting to the alcohol. Neither did Tony.
Maria’s face was heating up at this point, though she refused to let it show.
“You okay, lightweight?” Clint teased, then coughing when he swallowed his shot.
“Worry about yourself, birdbrain.” Maria narrowed her eyes.
“Round three.” Tony announced.
Both he and Natasha knocked back the third shot easily.
Maria let out a sharp exhale, feeling her stomach churn as the third shot went down.
Clint also took longer than usual, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Round four,” Natasha smirked.
Maria had no idea how Natasha was still perfectly fine. She stared at her shot glass, feeling her mouth salivate excessively.
She swallowed, regretting the action almost immediately.
“Oh, no.” She muttered.
Natasha’s smile disappeared. “Maria?”
Maria shook her head, placing the glass back on the table.“I’m tapping out.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “Already?”
“Shut up.”
Clint leaned back, looking relieved. “Smartest thing you’ve done all night.”
Natasha sighed, reaching for the vodka. “Guess I’m drinking for two.”
“Mhm.” Maria suddenly stood up. “Excuse me.” She brisk-walked over to one of Fury’s thousand dollar plants in a corner of the room, hunching over it awkwardly.
“Oh, she’s gonna hurl.” She heard Clint remark.
“Don’t look,” Natasha chided him.
Maria was very grateful for that.
“Guess that means Romanoff’s up.” Clint said.
Maria heard a shot glass slide across the table.
“Round four,” Tony announced. “Continue.”
“Romanoff.”
“Stark.”
“Barton.”
There was silence for a bit. “I’m tapping out,” Clint replied weakly, followed by Tony groaning loudly.
“What part of drink or we have to kiss do you not understand?”
Maria looked up to see Clint shaking his head slowly, not looking much better than her. “You know Stark, I’m a man who is comfortable with my masculinity.”
“You piece of shit.”
Maria walked back to the couch, settling beside Natasha once again.
“How’s the plant?” Natasha asked, knocking back her fifth shot.
“Oh,” Maria shook her head with a quiet huff. “Destroyed.”
Natasha grimaced, then poured herself a sixth shot.
Maria caught her wrist. “Natasha.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to.”
Natasha shrugged away from her grip easily, knocking back the sixth shot.
“I know,” she mumbled. “I just…” she trailed off, shaking her head and pouring herself a seventh one.
Tony was still staring at his sixth.
“I give up.” He muttered. “Tapping out.”
Natasha downed the seventh one anyways.
“Nat.” Maria stopped her when she reached for the bottle again. “Hey.”
Natasha took a deep breath. Then, she let go of the bottle, slumping back against the couch, leaning her head heavily against Maria’s shoulder.
“Coulson’s dead,” she whispered, her eyes wet with emotion.
Maria felt her chest tightened. “I know.”
Natasha swallowed. “I can’t…”
Maria wrapped an arm around her and pulling her closer, before resting her chin on Natasha’s head. “I know.”
Natasha’s fingers curled weakly around the hem of her shirt. “I don’t know what to do.”
Maria closed her eyes. “Neither do I.”
Present day
“I miss Coulson.” Natasha murmured. “I think about him a lot.”
Maria pulled her knees to her chest and rested her cheek on it, angling her head to look at Natasha.
“When he had first passed, I kept expecting him to walk into our briefing room one day and tell us it was all just a bad dream.”
Maria nodded, feeling a pang of guilt in her chest.
It is.
“Me too,” she said instead.
“He would’ve hated that Captain America wasn’t at his memorial.”
Maria let out a quiet laugh. “He would have.”
A moment of silence passed between them. Maria was the one to break it.
“So,” she said, “how many other times did I ruin your stomach with alcohol?”
Natasha gave her a look.
“Exhibit C: The Blip.”
Maria felt her stomach sink.
“Oh.”
“Well, I guess it wasn’t really your fault.” Natasha stretched her feet out. “I got the purple alien to blame for that.”
Maria gave her a small, apologetic smile. “Still.”
“Still nothing.” Natasha shrugged. “You weren’t there. None of us were making good decisions. I ate a peanut butter sandwich everyday for two years.”
Maria looked down at her hands, trying but failing to smile at that. “I would have been there."
“I know.”
“I would.”
“I know, Masha.”
There was something about the certainty in Natasha’s voice that made her chest ache.
Just like the way Natasha had waited for her for forty-three minutes on their first date.
Natasha had always, always believed in her.
Maria reached for another slice of the pizza, tearing it into chunks absentmindedly, just needing something to occupy her hands with.
“I forgot to tell you,” she suddenly looked up. “Laura called today.”
Natasha’s expression softened. “Yeah?”
Maria nodded. “You weren’t around, obviously,” Maria said. “But Cooper got into the university he wanted.”
“He did?”
“Mhm.” Maria nodded again, smiling at the way Natasha’s face had lit up. “And get this, he got a full scholarship.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Yeah, he’s very happy.”
“I think Clint must be the happiest.” Natasha snorted. “Full scholarship.” She shook her head fondly. “That boy. What about Lila?”
“She’s doing really well in school too. And archery. Though Clint is adamant against her ever becoming an avenger.” Maria shrugged. “And Nate is…well, Nate.”
“So nothing has changed.”
“Not a bit.”
“Good.” Natasha settled deeper into the couch, smiling to herself. “I miss them.”
Maria smiled faintly. “We should head down there sometime soon. Maybe Christmas.”
Natasha looked at her, her smile turning sad all of a sudden.
“Well,” she murmured. “I can’t.”
Maria’s smile faltered. “Nat?”
“Masha,” Natasha’s hand reached out to Maria’s cheek, stopping before it touched her. Maria instinctively leaned into it.
“I’m not here, remember?”
Her fingers slipped through Maria’s face.
Maria blinked.
The room was quiet, except for the whirring of the fan.
Maria stared at the empty space beside her. No red hair spilling all over the cushions. No warm body pressed against her side. No hand resting on her knee.
Slowly, her eyes drifted toward the table.
Natasha’s pierogis sat untouched in their container. The second shot glass was still full.
Maria looked back at the couch.
“Oh.”