A Quiet Moment

Natasha has been waiting for the right moment to ask Maria out. BlackHill. Oneshot.

The two agents linger at the safe house. The informant has been smoothly handed off to the team that will move him to another location, and they are both enjoying a moment of calm, so different from what they usually experience on the job. One stands comfortably, gazing out the window. The other lounges on the couch, gazing at her coworker.

"Hey," the woman on the couch asks, "when was the last time you went on a date?"

The woman at the window turns and sits on the sill. She gives Natasha a questioning look instead of an answer.

"I mean a proper get-dressed-up-and-go-out-to-dinner date," Natasha clarifies. "C'mon, Maria, how long?"

Maria looks up at the ceiling, as if the answer is written there. "Oh, I don't know." She smiles a little, ashamed of her answer. "I don't think I've been on one since college. Went out with this guy... John? Josh? Josh, a few times. But it never went anywhere, because I wasn't into him."

"College?" Natasha questions, incredulous. She throws her feet up on the coffee table and spreads her arms along the back of the couch. "I've got to get you out more."

Maria crosses her arms and stares down at Natasha, suddenly defensive. "What about you? And assignments don't count. I'm talking a dinner with someone you liked and when you were not on anyone's payroll."

The woman on the couch breaks into a wide, easy grin. "Oh, that's easy: never. I don't claim to be perfect, I just let everyone assume I am."

Maria snorts. "I think I need to get you out more."

Natasha slides her feet back onto the floor and leans forward, as if the conversation has only now started to interest her. "Well, what are you doing Friday night? I think we could solve both our problems in one go."

Maria laughs. "Just where do you think a pair like us is going to find one decent, dateable person by Friday, let alone two?"

"Well, I was thinking we could cut out the middlemen. It only takes two people to have a proper date, after all."

Maria nearly chokes with surprise. "Are you-" askingmeonadate? races through her mind before she can get the words out. Then another thought occurs to her. She groans. "It's the haircut, isn't it?" She runs one hand self-consciously through her newly short, black hair.

Natasha holds her gaze levelly. "It's not the haircut," she responds, "it's the way you look at me." She drops her eyes, suddenly shy. "And the way I look at you."

The observation hangs in the air with the wait of a confession as Maria processes the information. She clears her throat. "Got any place in mind?" She asks. "I'm free Friday."

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