MCU Ladies Week | Day 2: Unsung Hero ↳ Maria Hill
When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?
Maria Hill was Nick Fury’s second in command because she was very good at her job. She looked after the Avengers while working as the Deputy Director of the world’s greatest intelligence agency. She even saved Natasha, Steve and Sam when Hydra tried to take them out. She kept an eye on Coulson and his team. She worked at Stark Industries after she helped bring SHIELD down. Maria Hill is the reason half of our beloved superheroes are even alive. She doesn’t need superpowers to keep up with the Avengers.
The waves are relentlessly furious, fighting with all the boats; spars.
Sharp enough to cut through anything, cold enough to burn out the stars.
Despite the sea’s deep fury, the ship pushed through it steady,
as if it was made of unsinkable lead, death inescapable but he’s ready.
At the wheel stood the Captain, dressed from head to foot in black,
soaked to the bone from rain and sea, droplets falling from his hair, face and down his back.
He stood with a solid grace, unmoving in contrast to the harshness around him.
A stony face of unwavering seriousness, gaze dead ahead into the grey dim.
The waves hadn’t caught him yet and he didn’t suppose they ever would, not as long as he kept on running. Running, always running, as fast as he could.
It wasn’t quite morning but the black darkness had given way to a grey.
The dawning sky broke open to a howling wind, searching for it’s prey.
The lightning flashed a question “Where are you running to?”
And soon followed the thunder who added loudly, “No not where who?”
His eyelids shut over stormy eyes and from the horizon rose a gentle glow, as if it was it’s time.
The lightning flashed in anger though slightly dimmer now, the rain lessoning it’s lashing, lowering it’s crime.
The light touched the sky in shining white beams, shooting up and out.
The heavy black clouds shook and cowered in fear, giving up the fight.
The thunder rumbled in a mocking laugh, but so much quieter now,
“You’ll never reach it pirate, you’ll never get to the sun, that we can’t allow.”
The glow grew brighter then, the white giving way to a light shade of orange and the broken-hearted man was pulled out of the darkness.
His determined body stiffened, he would out run this storm, he would get to that brightness.
His face was bathed in the warmth of the light, shadows of ropes and beams painted across the deck.
With another breaking wave, the grey pushed away to reveal a clear morning sky, today there’d be no wreck.
Once free of shadow, the rain stopped it’s fall, and though the wet pirate shivered, he was numb to it all.
The sun was barely peeking above the end of the world but it was there, he was almost there, so close, he could just about hear the call.
His scowl lines deepened as the ship sailed on, searching the horizon for even a spec of land thereon.
The wind picks up his rain soaked hair but he’s close, so close, thats all he really cares.
Higher and higher the sun rises in the sky and he can see the land now, it’s right beneath his eyes.
The thunder is wrong he thinks, as he slows the ship, nears the shore.
He can see the sunlight now, in rays of golden blonde, closer just closer, it burns him to his core.
Anchoring the ship in place at the port, the burning heat from nearby sears his skin.
Maybe luck was on his side, he could feel the world spin.
It’s only then that he finally moves, removing hands from the wooden wheel.
Stepping sideways in cold sodden boots he walks towards the warmth so real.
And hopping down onto solid ground, green eyes are the first thing he sees. Oh god that face, that voice, that smile, it brings him to his knees.
The storm in his eyes reaches a peak and he’s drowning, he’s drowning, he’s drowning.
Then there’s shining silk in his hand, a denim waist pressed into the other, eyes that are so damn grounding.
A softness surrounds him, and arms pull him closer, closer, into the warm.
He’s aware of the damp but the coldness is gone, she’s tugging him closer, he can only conform.
Hot gentle lips touch his own and there’s soft white skin under his hands, this war he’d finally won.
Golden tendrils of hair and bright eyes reflecting sun.
The thunder is so wrong he thinks as she whispers “You’re cold my loved one.” And his voice back is gentle, her hands warming up his fragile heart, “It’s cold without the sun.”