Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
She continued to stare into the mirror, she wasn't even looking at herself. No, she was looking beyond herself. Beyond every insecurity, every bad memory, every pain until eventually she saw nothing. She was nothing. She was just a blurry face with raven hair and a shit back story: A nobody.
Maria Hill was unimportant, with no purpose. An angel fallen from grace. What meaning could she possibly have now? They were all dead, after all she was the one who killed them: Inadvertently but still at fault. A mistake, a grave one. And, this mistake would cost her greatly. She should have seen it, should have said something, should have screamed it. But she was too late, too distracted, too happy, too complacent. Laughing with her comrades, under the scorching sun, not looking at the periphery. Maybe if she wasn't teasing Lucy about her tactical vest being backwards then she would have seen or heard the assailants, she would have seen what the were doing. But, god forbid that sergeant Hill could be happy. She didn't deserve laughter, nor love. An explosion boomed and then a thick layer dust forced its way through. Silence laying steadily amongst the dry land. Tumbleweeds strolling hastily through, litter and junk flailing in the wind. A normal day for anybody else. But, there was blood in the sand, muffled screams, tainted lives. All dead, but one.
Sand buried in her boots, sand stuck in her hair, sand glued to her lips, sand under her nails, sand embedded in her gear. Sand everywhere. She was crying, sand mixing with tears, was she even allowed to cry? A broken arm and a split lip, no she wasn't allowed to cry. They were all dead. It was her burden to carry. Scavenged from the sand and flown home to dance with the medals she didn't deserve and the fucked up American flag to wave. Patriotism lost. Anger raging.
Fuck.
Who am I?
Who am I?
It doesn't matter.
You're not a soldier anymore Hill, it's some sort of twisted joke. They are all laughing at you, the dead, the living. Everyone. Funeral after funeral, bottle after bottle, pill after pill. You are no one.
Pull yourself together.
Pull yourself together.
A fresh start: Don't waste it.
The Hellicarrier was described as a 'flying ship' but for some reason she didn't picture that it was quite literally was a flying ship. Thousands of metres in the air, hovering discretely. As soon as her feet hit the deck Maria felt nauseous, she shouldn't be here. She'll only get them killed. But for some fucked up reason she couldn't say no. God, she'd be dead by now if SHIELD hadn't recruited her, Director Fury himself was the one to ambush her.
An opportunity he called it, "come with me or wither away". In hindsight, it wasn't a difficult decision.
He was stood in the hallway of her apartment building on a random Tuesday evening, waiting. Maria had go to the store, remembering that she was indeed human and human's must eat in order to survive. She eyed the taller man suspiciously as she walked down the hallway to her door, carrying a grocery bag containing pasta and vodka, her hand slipping into her jacket skilfully, grasping her gun. He smiled at her, not a wide smile. His lips did not meet his eyes, but it didn't matter, she refused to smile back. She had lost her spark a long time ago. Left it with the dead in the sand. Maria Hill would not take any shit from anyone. Long story short, a bowl of pasta later, she was given a fresh start.
Maria had only been on the floating fortress for two months, the fog in her mind had slowly and absent mindly slipped away. Life was becoming clearer, more bare able. It would be a lie to say that she was happy, but at least she was no longer sad. Void the night terrors of the faceless ghouls burning alive in the US military uniform in Iraq.
"Watch the Russian."
Maria Hill had a purpose.
Looking into the mirror become manageable, she didn't see the ghost of her mother, father, comrades. She saw herself, better or for worse. She was an Level 3 Agent of SHIELD, she didn't have blood on her hands here. She didn't taste sand in her mouth. She was free and safe and above all unbreakable. Made of stone. No. Maria Hill was made of Ice.
She had learnt to appreciate the rain. At night time she'd escape to the deck, sit down and wait for the rain. It always came.
Time flew by, looking after the prisoner became guiding an acquaintance to despising an Agent. Avoiding Romanoff in the hallways at all costs. She was infuriating.
Level 5.
Hill was? What was Hill? Content? Cleansed?
Level 7. The final Level. Completion. Absolution.
Tasked with her own team, becoming the team leader. Tactical, powerful, strategic. Lives once again in her hands. She was their best, not one Agent was ever left behind on her Alpha team. Hill would walk through ice and hell fire to save every single one of them. Going in personally to drag them out of burning buildings, gunfire, rivers, collapsing buildings. Maria Hill was admirable.
Romanoff continued to drive her crazy, she ignored it. 5am Gym sessions to cure frustration.
Jealously, everyone was jealous of Hill. She had only been there for a year and yet she was on first name basis with the Director. Hill was level 7, she had control. Agents who had been there for years prior were still stuck on level 5. Maria Hill was the enigma.
A flash of a smile, a joke, a kiss.
A small smirk back, a flicker of laughter, a kiss reciprocated.
The ice queen did not have a ice of heart, or rather maybe she did. Maybe it was melting? Romanoff was pushing her way in, her fiery red hair warming the heart of the lost, broken, damaged Agent Hill.
"What are we?"
"Does it matter?"
Lust, sex, emptiness.
"I can't do this anymore."
"It's not a big deal."
Withdrawal, anger, resentment.
"I'm sorry."
"I missed you"
Realisation, fear, love.
Ten years, an apartment, a cat, moving trucks, a warm home, a marriage, a nursery, a child, a swing set.
Maria Elizabeth Hill was important with purpose. She was everything. Maria was a soldier, a commander, a director, a lover, a wife, a mother. She was beautiful with her affection blooming all around her, flourishing. Colours of blue would meet green causing a commotion, a whirl wind, a steady breeze. Peace. Maria Hill was everything, every emotion conceivable. No longer carrying the dead on her shoulders, she had shed her skin many years ago.
She was reborn.
