A Matter Of Connection
She's a good kid, but Phil worries about her.
Maria wouldn't thank him for it, and Fury would shake his head at the idea. But Phil looks at a lifetime of service in SHIELD and can't see Maria making the distance.
He's seen her file; Fury tagged it for him to look at after flagging Maria for the fast track. "She's not afraid to play hardball."
So far as Phil can see it, the problem is more that Agent Hill doesn't play softball. Or roller derby. Or viola. Or RPGs. She doesn't collect cards or watch football, she doesn't read romance novels or watch sci-fi television shows. She's collected in a crisis, and ruthless in a corner, but when she leaves work...well, that's the problem, isn't it? Sometimes he doesn't think she leaves work.
In a line of work which can so easily take over every other part of an agent's life, she doesn't have a reason to live.
She doesn't let anyone in. She doesn't make friends. She does her work and goes home.
And that worries Phil.
Oh, he doesn't lose sleep over it; he's been at this job too many years to fret about one young SHIELD agent. But sometimes he looks over at her under the guise of appraising her work and wonders what goes on behind those cool blue eyes.
The perfect soldier? Well, it would depend on your definition of 'soldier'. Steve Rogers was the perfect soldier: a leader of men and an unparalleled fighter of his time, but even he had his friends. James Barnes and the Howling Commandoes' reports still radiate affection, seventy years later, and Phil still recalls the quiet ache in Peggy Carter's voice when she spoke of him during that oh-so-brief interview that Phil wrangled with her.
Maria does her job, and does it well. But she's different. Distinct. Distant.
You lack connection.
He wishes he knew what would give her that, although it's not his job to play mama hen. Maria wouldn't thank him for it.
Still, he worries all the same.
fin