Chapter Text
Vienna, Austria — Late 2021
1.5 years since Vienna Recon.
Vienna hadn't changed.
It still breathed in fog and neon, coughed smoke from tram engines, and wore the rain like an old coat. It was heavy, bitter and permanent. The sky hung low, a sheet of pewter stretched over the city's crumbling edges. And, somewhere beyond the rooftops, church bells rang the hour with a voice cracked by time.
Maria Hill didn't look up from her seat by the cracked window.
It was tall and narrow, framed by chipped, peeling paint the colour of faded slate. Rain traced lazy rivers down the glass, blurring the cold glow of street lamps and the distant flicker of neon signs into watercolor streaks. Only the faintest of rain managed to escape, and trickle through the bullet hole which fractured the pane.
The safehouse was barely that- safe. With S.H.I.E.L.D disbanded, there was no longer a budget. The house itself was off the record. There were four walls, a creaking floor, one naked bulb swinging in the kitchen like a metronome for ghosts, and a pull out duvan which offered little to no comfort.
She hadn't touched the tea in front of her. She had let it go cold. Her sidearm rested beside it on the table, still warm from the press of her hand.
She wasn't expecting company.
The sound of a lock shifting. Slow. Careful.
Maria didn't move. She didn't have to. Her spine went straight, muscles coiled beneath the stillness like wire. She knew who it was. She wanted to kill her for coming back.
The door opened with a breath of wind and the scent of wet leather, smoke, and city rain.
And then she was there.
Natasha Romanoff stood in the doorway like a memory that refused to stay buried. Rain clung to her skin her hair was dark and slick against her face, her black leather jacket dripping a slow rhythm onto the old wooden floorboards. She looked like she hadn't slept. But Natasha always looked like that. Tired and ragged. Nights of insomnia cured by nothing but Maria's touch. A touch she was no longer privy to.
She didn't speak at first.
Then again, neither did Maria.
The silence stretched between them, tense as tripwire. Thinner than the hairs on the ex deputy directors head. The silence was withering, but it was strong enough to make one understand that you don't break it unless you're ready for the consequences.
Finally, Natasha stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a soft, final click.
Her voice came low. Controlled. But there was something underneath it — not anger. Not quite.
"You left me to die in Vienna."