Never Back Down

Maria groaned.

It wasn’t often she drank—at least, not like this. Feeling the pounding in her head, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. It was as though someone had taken the bottle of Jack Daniels and just smacked her upside the head with it, given the intensity of the migraine threatening to split her in half.

The night before. She could barely stand thinking about the now, never mind recalling the then. This much alcohol didn’t bode well for her professionalism, but she’d deal with the consequences of that later.

Later. For now, sleep. A few hours of sleep, a few Excedrin, and she’d be good as new. Maria rolled over, gingerly settling her head back onto the pillow. She had nearly won the battle with her throbbing skull and was dozing off when she felt the comforter rustle beside her.

Something moved.

Her eyes snapped open, reflexes kicking into gear as she tried to remember where, exactly, she’d left her sidearm. She was readying herself for an upward jab at the face, a quick break in their nose, when she saw the familiar black goatee.

Tony Stark.

In her hotel room.

Naked.

No. Nope. Fuck the headache. She was getting up and getting out, now.

“Oh, god. Oh, god, we didn’t—ewww. Eww!” She jumped to her feet, ignoring how bright the light was, how much she resented the sun at that moment, prayed for a solar eclipse. She shuddered, thinking of what might’ve happened the night before—of his skin touching her skin. There wasn’t a scrub brush in the world strong enough to wash away even the thought of that. She’d have to molt like a snake just to feel clean again.

She wasn’t sure what it was about this that spooked her the most. The fact that she couldn’t remember was definitely a factor. She’d been a spy for a long time and a woman for even longer, and sex, liquor, and memory loss never sat right with her. That he was an arrogant, immature manchild who treated the world like his personal plaything didn’t help either. But it was remembering Pepper, her friend–Pepper, Tony’s girlfriend–that really pushed her over the edge.

Throwing herself into the shower, Maria twisted the faucet to scalding, as though the water could somehow turn back time. Her head throbbed, refusing to fill in the blanks about what’d actually happened, how she’d ended up here. And as she closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the tile, recognizing just how bad this looked, the uncertainty tore at her conscience, wracking her with guilt.