Maria Hill ~ Acting Director (shield_2ic) wrote in newalliance, @ 2012-03-11 16:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | captain america, maria hill |
Who: Maria Hill
Where: Helicarrier Command
When: 3/11
What: The Helicarrier comes to Gotham airspace.
Rating: Worksafe
Status: Narrative/Open to SHIELD
Six years in SHIELD, and Maria still hadn't quite gotten used to standing on the bridge, staring at the transparent screens of the United States and the lit dots of trouble with their corresponding insets with available data. The control room was manned around the clock, with info constantly coming in from media, police, and field agent reports of crises rising, developing, resolving, all the pies SHIELD had their hand in.
The fact that the Eastern Seaboard blazed and boxes constantly popped up with new information was something that she'd gotten used to as well, even as it made her ache to watch. The fact that they were desperately needed made for a secure job, and embroiled her in another perpetual war. Sitting back and evaluating the threats as they came in and directing the flow of agents and the movements of the Helicarrier didn't always help when she wanted to be down there, getting her hands dirty and able to offer immediate solutions instead of seeing the never-ending work.
Granted, there were some things that she was very glad that she hadn't gotten used to; as the Helicarrier cruised towards its next station, over the deep-water docks of Gotham, one of the squads of jets made their final pass around, and each one took a single attempt to land on the flight deck. She had never been stationed on an aircraft carrier, a proper sea-going one, and found the launch and recovery of the squadrons and the intricate dance of machinery and agents fascinating. If anyone was out of place, people died, so no one ever was. It made another quiet rumble in the background, more abrupt than the steady purr of the engines beneath their feet.
She shifted her weight, and reached for her long-cold cup of coffee, and the bite of cold, badly brewed caffeine was familiar, too. Familiar wasn't all bad, not when it gave her something steady to work with. Looking at the dark skyline of Gotham, rising up from the docks, she compared the sight of it with the flurry of reports about street crime fought by vigilantes and madmen in capes and costumes running around committing more crimes with the memory of the dusty streets of bombed Iraq villages, and wasn't entirely surprised when she figured they were both war-zones. And after six years, at least vigilantism was familiar as well. She didn't have to like something to find it somewhat comforting.