Disclaimer: I own nothing. Anything recognizable belongs to Marvel.

So, I recently discovered that I ship some pretty unusual pairings, including Coulson/Hill. (It was an accident, I swear.) This is one of the results of that. This is a very raw and emotional piece - I realize that Hill is usually portrayed as very businesslike and no-nonsense, but I think that there is a lot more to her than that. It is also one of my (many) headcanons, that Maria is the cellist Coulson refers to in the Avengers.

They think she reported Fury to the World Security Council because she disapproved of his methods.

They are wrong.

They think she brought down the Avengers from the inside because she doesn't think they are able to work in the long term. (The truth is, she saw them in action and she knows they will work given half a chance.) They all think that. Even Barton and Romanoff.

They are all wrong.

But they are right, too. She went to the Council because she believed that Fury's methods were reckless. A good man – many good men, actually – died because Fury had been reckless. She cannot forgive him for that. Not yet. Not for a long time.

The Helicarrier is empty without him. The offices felt cold and vacant. His office is closed and locked and dark and it only serves to remind her of what they lost. What she lost.

It isn't like her to be so involved in something. She doesn't like how it feels to lose people. She keeps them at arm's length and focuses on the work in front of her. That was how things had been since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. It works better that way – agents die every day. Involvement never leads to anything more than pain.

Most agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. think that Maria Hill is cold, clinical, and by the book. She follows orders to the letter and expects her orders to be followed in the same manner.

In reality, Maria Hill is unraveling. Every time she passes the darkened office, there is a painful ache in her chest. The moment when she tries to put everything away and run her fingers along the strings and wood, it all begins to come undone, this messy, makeshift job she's done trying to patch herself up. What once would have helped her drown any pain only serves to remind her of him.

The physical scars have begun to fade now. Time is passing, just like it always does. Maria has done everything she can to keep the pain inside. She has succeeded. No one gives her a second glance. She tries her best to act like it is just another day. She succeeds, but she is falling apart inside.

It is only in the recess of her office when most of the crew has already gone to bed that everything begins to spill over. She cannot do this anymore. She cannot keep thinking of him every time she walks through the offices. She cannot keep pretending like nothing has changed. She cannot keep acting like she is okay. She cannot keep dancing around his name and letting him fade away.

The room is silent around her, as if it is reflecting the void inside back at her. Before, the silence would have brought her calm, but it does not anymore. Not since New York. Not since Loki.

She closes her eyes and leans back in her chair to try to restore calm. She fails.

Maria cannot, does not, stop the tears that begin to well. She tries to ignore the heat rushing to her cheeks and eyes and tries not to think of the redness that will come with tears. But she cannot help it. It is impossible to keep it bottled up inside. It is impossible for her to act like everything is alright, that it's like it was before. It is impossible for her to be objective and distant and she hates it. She hates feeling like this. This is the reason why she is distant, why her professional relationships remain professional, why she does everything by the book. Because if it is by the book, it doesn't hurt.

This pain was never something she was prepared for. It is something she despises. Weakness is not something Maria has ever liked and this is worse than weakness.

The world is spinning around her, moving on. The world does not care about her weakness. But she does. She cares. She cares too much and it has come back to bite her. She acts as if she brushes off everything, that anything not done just right is the end of the world. Because if she makes it the end of the world, it is easier. It is easier to believe and let them all believe that all she is is what they see. It is easier to be clinical and driven by the rules than it is to let someone in.

She made that mistake once already and now he is gone.

But everything is spinning past and she does not know what to do anymore. She only knows that she does not want everything to be this raw anymore. She wants to go back to the way things where, where she can be distant and push the pain and fear of loss away, where she is not unraveling.

There is a knock on the door that makes her open her eyes.

She cannot believe what she sees.

He is standing there in an unpressed dress shirt and slacks with two cups of coffee in hand. She does not react at first. Not until he crosses the room with that little enigmatic smile of his on his face and sets down the coffee in front of her.

She instinctively reaches for it but draws back when she feels the heat. Their eyes fix and all of the questions fly through her mind.

"You were dead."

"Yes. Briefly."

"The Director said you were dead. Whenever anyone asked."

"He lied."

There is silence for a long moment, a silence that is everything the void was not. It is an intimate silence. Words that hang in the air as they tell each other everything without uttering a sound.

I'm here.

I'm not okay.

I know.

You're alive.

Yes.

Stay.

I'm not leaving.

Thank you.

"Welcome back, Phil." She can't help the faint smile that touches her lips then anymore than he can help the sparkling in his eyes.

"It's good to be back, Maria."

"I'll expect your reports on my desk by next week."

"It will be my pleasure."

As he turns to walk away, she breathes a sigh of relief. It is all she can do not to jump up and run after him. There are no words to describe what she is feeling right now. There is too much pain and joy – and something she does not have a word for – mixed together to even find a place to begin right now. Nothing is going to fall back together just like that. Everything will not be alright just like that. But this is a start.