Who: Maria Hill and Phil Coulson. What: Donuts, scotch, and bad life choices. Where: Coulson's house. When: About a week after Maria arrives. Rating: PG-13, for implications and some kissing. Status: Complete!
Phil had his jacket and tie off. It was the end of the day, and he had thought that Hill said she would be at the office for a bit. He was catching up on one of his few vices; reality tv. Sitting on the couch, a bottle of water in his hand, he laughed quietly at the antics of the real housewives of something or other. After everything, he'd earned it.
Hill had, indeed, planned to be at the office for a little. But things here were so goddamn calm in comparison to her work with SHIELD that she'd finished her paperwork in record time. She'd even completed most of the backlog before she decided that, if she got rid of all the work today, there would be nothing to do tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that. A helicarrier, this place was not. So Maria had decided to do something nice for Coulson. He'd been kind enough to share his house with her for a week while she looked for someplace to stay, the least she could do was pick up a couple of dozen donuts with extra sprinkles and a bottle of good scotch. Even if it meant she was standing outside the front door awkwardly, knocking with her foot. It was hard to unlock a door with a bottle in one hand and two boxes of donuts in the other.
Coulson blinked, standing up to open up the door. He was surprised to see Hill there knocking; he'd given her a key. But her arms were so full, he quickly put two and two together. "What's the special occasion?"
"Nothing's tried to kill us for a week," Hill responded with a grin as he opened the door. "I think that warrants celebrating." Especially after he'd actually been killed-- but no, she wasn't going to think about that tonight.
Coulson was proud of her for not bringing that up. "I agree." He held open the door, taking the donut boxes and walking over to the sofa. Without his jacket and tie he looked almost relaxed. Almost.
Hill shrugged her own blazer off. She honestly preferred the jumpsuit, but it definitely wasn't part of the NSA standard uniform. So pantsuits it was. Grabbing some glasses from the cabinet, she hopped onto the couch next to him, curling her legs under herself. "What're you watching?" She honestly didn't really care if she was interrupting. She'd brought donuts with sprinkles, he could suck it up.
"Real Housewives." Hill knew his habit of this by this point (he hoped) and calmly reached for a donut. "Scotch?" It went with donuts, he was just surprised.
"Scotch," Hill confirmed, grabbing a donut of her own. "Celebratory scotch." She was well aware of Coulson's reality TV... thing and had even sat through a few episodes of Supernanny. She much preferred So You Think You Can Dance, herself, but it wasn't her house. "We should make a drinking game out of this. Every time there's a catfight, finish your drink."
"Our livers would never forgive us," Coulson said calmly, still pouring them both a drink before handing her the glass. "Which means you'd make it halfway through the episode at best."
"True. A sip per catfight sound more reasonable?" Hill took the glass gratefully, washing down a bite of donut with the alcohol. "I'm curious to see if the booze makes me feel like punching all of them in the face less."
"Doubtful. That's sort of what they're going for." However, Coulson already had to take a drink, since on screen there was a bit of scratching taking place.
"This is worse than the Antiques Roadshow drinking game," Hill commented, taking another sip as they moved on to the finer points of hair-pulling (or weave-pulling, in some cases).
Coulson just grinned at her. "That was a bad episode. I didn't realize there'd be so many gnomes."
"So, so many gnomes." Hill gave a mock-shudder. "We should come up with a drinking game for America's Next Top Model. Every time they say the word 'smize'?"
"Or any time one of the models starts crying over something trivial. Again though, our livers." The show went on for a time, and both had to be at least on their third glasses. Maybe this had been a terrible idea.
"Aw, we can take it. We're agents of S.H.I.E.L.D!" Hill cried with a laugh, giving him a little punch in the shoulder. The goofy tipsiness was starting to set in. "I mean, you took down like three guys with a bag of flour."
"Only two," Phil said (completely in 'Phil' mode at the moment), grinning at Maria. "Two with flower. And kicking. Lots of kicking."
"Could've taken three," Maria giggled. This was about the only time anyone would ever hear her giggle. "You could probably even take me." And now she was making mock fisticuffs motions with her hands. "C'mon. Let's go. You and me. Right now."
Phil reached out a put a hand on her fist, grinning bigger now. "Wouldn't be fair. Can't hit you when you giggle like that." His words were slightly slurred, but heartfelt. Granted, he'd never say them if he was sober, soooo...
"I'm not giggling." Maria protested with a pout, putting a hand on top of his and sandwiching it. He wasn't getting away from her this time, dammit. "It was perfectly legitimate laugh."
"Perfectly legitimate giggle," he said with a laugh of his own. Not a lot of people ever heard Phil laugh. Maria and Fury (even drunk, he was always Fury), a handful of others. It was a sign of trust, getting to let the agent armor down for awhile.
"So next time the aliens and the magalomaniac god attack Manhattan I should just giggle at them." She responded sagely, trying to keep a straight face. Oh good lord, she was drunk. Very, very, very drunk. Phil was pretty much the only person she trusted enough to get this tipsy around, to let herself actually be happy for a few minutes rather than dry and sarcastic.
"Well, don't go after him with a Phase II weapon without someone on your six," Coulson said pragmatically. Truthfully, he wouldn't mind another shot at Loki, but while they were here it seemed unlikely. Besides, thinking about his death was depressing.
That took her giggles away right quick, and her expression darkened. "Don't joke about that," Maria scolded emphatically, her voice surprisingly unsteady. "I don't want you going away again."
Phil frowned, just slightly. "I won't, Maria. Promise." He meant it. And he wasn't big on breaking those.
"I'm serious." She gave him a very stern look. "I cried." It didn't seem like a big admission to most people, but... this was Maria Hill. That was one of the first times she'd cried in her entire adult life. That was how much losing him had hurt.
Phil looked at her, now in a strange mixture awe and apology. "You shouldn't have done that. It's the job. It's always a risk."
For a second, she was tempted to tell him that she did whatever she damn well pleased. Instead, she put her palm against his cheek, giving him another serious look. "Job or not, you're my friend, Phil. And losing you hurt. So I'm not doing it again."
For a second, his alcohol soddened brain spun its wheels, trying to make sense of what was rapidly turning into a completely different situation than he had expected. Wordlessly, his head moved into her hand.
This was a bad idea. The worst idea. The tiny little sober part of Maria's brain was yelling at her to put those walls back up... things like this only led to heartache and awkwardnes. But the drunk, emotional part drowned it out, and she leaned forward to kiss him with a surprising amount of uncertainty.
Phil's response wasn't restrained, and in the morning he would likely regret it. Oh, he kissed her back. He'd always sort of wanted to; that line of tension went both ways. But girls like Maria Hill weren't interested in unremarkable men like Phil Coulson. But still he kissed her. The chips would fall where they would.
If she'd known what he was thinking, she probably would've punched him for being an idiot. Maria had worked alongside Phil for years and thought he was anything but unremarkable. Hell, she'd seen him take down armed men in less than a minute without breaking a sweat. Not to mention he made her actually break her professional facade from time to time and actually laugh. She would've asked him out years ago if it weren't for two things: one, they worked together. That never ended well. Two: she didn't do personal relationships. They were a vulnerability she couldn't afford. At least, not while sober. But sober her wasn't here right now, and drunk her didn't really care that she was tugging herself closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tomorrow morning was going to be awkward, though. That was for sure.
Tomorrow was extremely far away, and Phil found one hand tangling in her hair. For such a subdued man, he could sometimes get carried away if a particular situation called for it. And God, did this situation call for it. He finally pulled away, just to catch his breath.
For the second time in one night, Maria giggled, leaning her forehead against his while she caught her own breath. She pulled back and got unsteadily to her feet, taking his hands in hers and tugging. "C'mon, bedroom, you."
Phil was -positive- he heard wrong. But he was equally positive that he didn't care. Letting himself be tugged, he just grinned up at her. "Yes, ma'am."
"Don't ma'am me, Agent." She was trying to keep her balance while walking backwards, which wasn't as easy as it looked. Maria definitely stumbled once or twice, laughing at her own clumsiness, and hung onto his arms for support. She trusted him not to let her hurt herself.
She was going to fall over. Phil picked her up, fireman style over one shoulder. If they were going to do something they would regret, they at least had to be safe about it.
Maria blinked, suddenly very surprised to be looking at the floor. "Are you carrying me, Phil?" It was an obvious question, yes, but a very pressing one.
"Yes, Maria. Safer that way." His ton was level, calm, reasonable. Which was ridiculous since he could barely keep his words from slurring or his hands from... wandering.
That was probably true. Unless they both fell down, then it'd be decidedly unsafe for everyone involved. "Just checking." She responded with a shrug. "I'm okay as long as it's you carrying me. Anyone else I'd kick in the face."
"I don't think anyone else would carry you." Her punches hurt. "They'd probably be more romantic." But he was practical. Also, drunk. They got to his bedroom, which still seemed odd since he'd only been there a couple of weeks. With surprising gentleness, he laid her on the bed, shaking his head slightly. "You're going to regret it in the morning, Maria." He slurred her name slightly, as if to drive the point home.
"Carrying's romantic." She shrugged, glancing over her shoulder to see how close they were. When he laid her down on the bed and informed her that she was going to regret this, she frowned, trying to muddle through that problem in her alcohol-addled brain. "Does that change anything about right now?" She wondered aloud.
Phil looked down at her with one of his little half smiles, and shrugged. "Guess not."
Afterwards (which went a lot better than he had dreamed it would), and she was asleep in his arms, the rapidly sobering Coulson enjoyed the moment. He knew when she woke up, there'd be awkwardness. Right now though, savor this instead. Plans could be made in the morning. Sometimes even Phil Coulson needed a rest.
Waking up the next morning was a strange experience. Yes, Maria felt more rested and relaxed than she could remember, but her head was also twinging with the warnings of a hangover in progress. And she was naked, which made it more awkward. And not in her own bed. And tangled up with someone.
Crap. She'd taken advantage of her coworker and more importantly, her friend. This was bad.
Hill felt like the worst sort of trash as she gently disentangled herself from Coulson, trying not to wake him. If they didn't talk about it, ever, maybe they'd forget it had ever happened. Things could get back to mostly-normal, right? It was just an ill-advised fling. Tiptoing around the room, Hill collected her clothes. They were never going to speak of this again.