They were calling it ‘Fury’s Big Week’ in hushed whispers all throughout the helicarrier. It was a cute name; classic S.H.I.E.L.D. understatement for the latest series of world changing disasters. It let them feel in control—after all, the Big Week wasn’t the worst they’d ever faced, and it was over. It was a lie, but a necessary one. So when Hill brought drinks by her cramped quarters to ‘celebrate surviving that clusterfuck’, Natasha simply opened the door wider and let her in. After all, it hadn’t been just Fury’s big week.
“If I never have to go to New Mexico again, it’ll be too soon,” Maria scoffed, raising a bottle to her lips, sprawled across Natasha’s small loveseat. Natasha kicked a leg out along the floor, leaning forward to refill her small tumbler. Maria stretched out, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork I’ve got to finish? My desk is literally buried in it.”
“You didn’t have fun mopping up after literal aliens?” Natasha quipped, leaning back on a hand, idly swirling her drink with the other. “Come on Hill, where’s your sense of wonder?”
“It ran off somewhere after the fifth local tried to corner me with a crazed conspiracy theory,” Maria muttered, clearly unamused. Natasha snorted into her drink.
“A crazed conspiracy theory that hits a little too close to the truth?” She asked, looking up at the exhausted brunette. Maria groaned, throwing her head back. Natasha offered a wicked little laugh, dodging the bottlecap that Hill tossed at her head.
“Don’t remind me,” Maria took a long swig of her drink as they sat in companionable silence. “Fury says you’re heading out again.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Natasha mused, raising her glass to the light to watch the light catch across the crystal. “It should be fun; it’ll be a nice change of pace from Stark and Harlem.”
Maria nodded, clearly satisfied with this answer. The silence set in once again, both women lost to their own thoughts, drinking as the dimming sunlight traced a path across the table. Natasha breathed in the quiet,
“It’s getting late,” Natasha said when Maria placed her third empty bottle on the table. She nodded, rising to her feet, nimble fingers collecting her things. Rising as fluid as water, Natasha caught the empty bottles by the neck, silent footfalls accompanying Hill to the door. “Don’t drown in your paperwork.”
Maria’s lips quirked to one side, her dark brow arching as she appraised Natasha. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then reconsidered it. Instead, she offered a quiet nod, boots clicking along metal floors, as she disappeared into the bowels of the helicarrier.
The bottles clinked when they were dropped into the bin. The sun had finally set, and only black clouds filled the glass. Natasha navigated the small room in darkness—red labeled bottle finding a home in a cupboard, her crystal glass wiped clean and tucked into a secure box that was slid into a drawer and locked. Everything was still and shadowed.
She hadn’t meant to stay. She’d delivered her report to Fury as soon as she’d arrived, and received her orders in his next breath. Moscow called for her, to play a familiar game with another ex-KGB. She had meant to pack a bag, stop by a safehouse and make her way across the world in the morning. Instead, she’d dropped her gear on her bunk and let Hill distract her with drinks and conversation.
Natasha locked her quarters after stringing up her security wires. This was S.H.I.E.L.D., one of the most secure places on Earth, but old habits died hard. She ghosted through the carrier, taking to ducts that were never meant to provide passage for people, that Natasha had long since become familiar with. She climbed, muscles shifting, hands finding holds along rivets and creases as she moved ever higher.
Pale fingers eased open a small ventilation cover, guiding it aside. Natasha slipped out to the familiar deck, the wind roaring in her ears. She crept along the small walkway, footsteps solid as she ducked into the quiet nook she’d found her first week with S.H.I.E.L.D. as an asset, not a prisoner. The helicarrier was filled with secret spaces, both intentional and quirks of construction alike. Natasha had meticulously mapped all of them, but this one was her favorite.
From here she could watch the world, glittering lights shimmering through wisps of clouds. The room—if it could be called that—was more an enclosed space between decks, tucked behind the armored plating, accessible only from the exterior of the ship. It was ventilated and the thick glass told Natasha that it had been purposefully built in. Perhaps the engineers had known that the spies of S.H.I.E.L.D. would need nigh-on inaccessible hidey holes throughout the helicarrier. She hoped those engineers had been given a bonus for their foresight.
Natasha swung herself onto the I-Beam with the best view, settling against the window to watch the eastern seaboard far below. Curling into her loose, grey sweater, she tucked a legging clad leg beneath her, the other foot dangling over the beam. The engines hummed through the steel walls, clouds whispering by, kissing the window with raindrops.
She breathed deep, and let herself believe that Fury’s Big Week was over, if only for a night.
“If I never have to go to New Mexico again, it’ll be too soon,” Maria scoffed, raising a bottle to her lips, sprawled across Natasha’s small loveseat. Natasha kicked a leg out along the floor, leaning forward to refill her small tumbler. Maria stretched out, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork I’ve got to finish? My desk is literally buried in it.”
“You didn’t have fun mopping up after literal aliens?” Natasha quipped, leaning back on a hand, idly swirling her drink with the other. “Come on Hill, where’s your sense of wonder?”
“It ran off somewhere after the fifth local tried to corner me with a crazed conspiracy theory,” Maria muttered, clearly unamused. Natasha snorted into her drink.
“A crazed conspiracy theory that hits a little too close to the truth?” She asked, looking up at the exhausted brunette. Maria groaned, throwing her head back. Natasha offered a wicked little laugh, dodging the bottlecap that Hill tossed at her head.
“Don’t remind me,” Maria took a long swig of her drink as they sat in companionable silence. “Fury says you’re heading out again.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Natasha mused, raising her glass to the light to watch the light catch across the crystal. “It should be fun; it’ll be a nice change of pace from Stark and Harlem.”
Maria nodded, clearly satisfied with this answer. The silence set in once again, both women lost to their own thoughts, drinking as the dimming sunlight traced a path across the table. Natasha breathed in the quiet,
“It’s getting late,” Natasha said when Maria placed her third empty bottle on the table. She nodded, rising to her feet, nimble fingers collecting her things. Rising as fluid as water, Natasha caught the empty bottles by the neck, silent footfalls accompanying Hill to the door. “Don’t drown in your paperwork.”
Maria’s lips quirked to one side, her dark brow arching as she appraised Natasha. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then reconsidered it. Instead, she offered a quiet nod, boots clicking along metal floors, as she disappeared into the bowels of the helicarrier.
The bottles clinked when they were dropped into the bin. The sun had finally set, and only black clouds filled the glass. Natasha navigated the small room in darkness—red labeled bottle finding a home in a cupboard, her crystal glass wiped clean and tucked into a secure box that was slid into a drawer and locked. Everything was still and shadowed.
She hadn’t meant to stay. She’d delivered her report to Fury as soon as she’d arrived, and received her orders in his next breath. Moscow called for her, to play a familiar game with another ex-KGB. She had meant to pack a bag, stop by a safehouse and make her way across the world in the morning. Instead, she’d dropped her gear on her bunk and let Hill distract her with drinks and conversation.
Natasha locked her quarters after stringing up her security wires. This was S.H.I.E.L.D., one of the most secure places on Earth, but old habits died hard. She ghosted through the carrier, taking to ducts that were never meant to provide passage for people, that Natasha had long since become familiar with. She climbed, muscles shifting, hands finding holds along rivets and creases as she moved ever higher.
Pale fingers eased open a small ventilation cover, guiding it aside. Natasha slipped out to the familiar deck, the wind roaring in her ears. She crept along the small walkway, footsteps solid as she ducked into the quiet nook she’d found her first week with S.H.I.E.L.D. as an asset, not a prisoner. The helicarrier was filled with secret spaces, both intentional and quirks of construction alike. Natasha had meticulously mapped all of them, but this one was her favorite.
From here she could watch the world, glittering lights shimmering through wisps of clouds. The room—if it could be called that—was more an enclosed space between decks, tucked behind the armored plating, accessible only from the exterior of the ship. It was ventilated and the thick glass told Natasha that it had been purposefully built in. Perhaps the engineers had known that the spies of S.H.I.E.L.D. would need nigh-on inaccessible hidey holes throughout the helicarrier. She hoped those engineers had been given a bonus for their foresight.
Natasha swung herself onto the I-Beam with the best view, settling against the window to watch the eastern seaboard far below. Curling into her loose, grey sweater, she tucked a legging clad leg beneath her, the other foot dangling over the beam. The engines hummed through the steel walls, clouds whispering by, kissing the window with raindrops.
She breathed deep, and let herself believe that Fury’s Big Week was over, if only for a night.