You're on the roof again.

It's quiet up there; so high that the chaos of the streets of Manhattan can't reach your ears.

You're surprised she let you out of her sight; it's been three days but she's always been around, not far away just in case.

You can't remember, in all the years of knowing her, ever being able to see such a human side to her, a vulnerability that she can't hide; you die, she dies.

You can't stop yourself from thinking; there are selfish wants you have.

You want to go home.

You want to put her in a car with the few belongings you bought with you; you want to go back to your loft with your wife and just be.

You miss those days before you were dragged back into it; she was freer, happier you think.

You had never seen her smile so much.

You can't help but wonder what your future is going to be like; just the two of you, going back and forth between Stark Industries and this forsaken tower to fight some new form of evil?

You wonder what she wants; does she want just the two of you?

SHIELD is gone and so is HYDRA; you have no obligation to stay, there's nothing keeping you here.

You wonder if it's too much to ask for a break.

You didn't realise you had asked that aloud when you get an answer.

She's next to you and saying no; it's been a long few years with the stresses of assignments, of containment, of war.

You hear her say something you're not expecting; you should start a family.

You head turns so quickly for a moment you're sure it's going to tumble eighty something floors to the streets; she laughs.

You hear her explain things she left out when she broke down in your bed at home; the idea of being able to start a family with you kept her coming home.

You never considered that she might want children; in all the time you had known her, maternal instincts had never shown themselves.

You had considered them for yourself but your life was too dangerous.

And it has never come up in conversation.

You ask, when she's seen the horrors of this world and of others, why she would want to bring a child or children into a world that can be so dangerous and so cruel.

You hear something about mini Maria's running around; you chuckle and retaliate that mini Natasha's would be more adorable and would be able to kick Clint's arse by age three.

You're Maria Hill, the former second in charge to a now debunked World Security Organisation; you're so in love with an assassin and a spy that you married her.

You want to start a family with her.

You tell her that; you ask her if she is sure, if she really wants this.

You see her pause for a moment before she looks at you to read your face; she nods.

And then you mutter that you should start practising as soon as possible.

She kisses you hard.

You bite her lip and tell her you love her.

You're dragged back inside.

She loves you too.