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.~{:--------------:}~.
*
The flight was late, of course. A red eye from Korea, only half full, mainly of business men and the single, nameless, completely unremarkable woman in the back who tried to sleep but has three years of undercover work dancing through her brain. Three years of barely speaking English, of not trusting anyone. Three years of wearing a different face, too many different names. Coming home seems almost more daunting than just staying in the habit. But she was off assignment. Everyone needed a break. So, slowly, waiting for everyone else to off the plane out of a mix of paranoia and habit, Sharon Carter makes her way down the ramp last and into the posh boarding lounge. She wheels a single black Samonsite suitcase behind her. Her blonde hair is down in a few messy lines. She wears nothing but jeans and a teeshirt. She looks like a student traveling, not one of the most dangerous women in the CIA. But then, that's the point. It's her eyes which are different. They have the weight of a decade of service behind them.
*
If Sharon's eyes scream spy, then Steve Rogers' outfit probably cries dork. He's wearing a plaid shirt and khakis with a pleat, with a pair of brown loafers. Peggy Carter had asked Steve to take a moment to head to the airport and pick up her niece, who was arriving from overseas. The only other information she gave was that her name was Sharon and that she had blonde hair. So, Steve doesn't even actually realize who he is looking for as the young agent enters the lounge. He is, however, holding a sign that says "SHARON."
*
The woman did not expect to be greeted by anyone. She expected a cab. Or, maybe a black town car from the CIA if they were very worried about what was in her bag, but most of the important information was sent long ago. The tall, handsome and all American was the last person she thought she'd see, especially as she swears she recognizes him from the old news reels. But surely not… She blinks drowsily as she comes up to him, giving a small nod, "Did George send you? I said I'd report in the morning…" Her voice is all business. Respectful and tired. SHe gives a little nod that is the sort of 'lets talk and walk' gesture.
*
Steve settles in to walking beside her and gives a shake of his head. "No, actually, Peggy sent me. She told me she was your aunt and that you were coming in from overseas and needed a ride." He looks over his shoulder, "Are you waiting for a George? You're Sharon Carter, right?"
*
Not much surprises Sharon Carter. That surprises her, especially considering the last she and Peggy spoke there had been quite the blow up. Mostly over her staying with the CIA and not joining SHIELD. Maybe this was her aunt's attempt at apology. Still, the blonde has to rejig her mind for a heartbeat or two before giving him a slight nod, "Yes. I… I'm Sharon Carter. And no. I just thought my … associate would be here." Handler isn't a word she should say out loud. So, she sticks with something else. She keeps walking along side of him, "…you know you look an awful lot like Steve Rogers?"
*
"Well, that's probably good, given that's who I am," Steve says with a curt chuckle. "Associate? You must be some sort of business woman or something. I'm afraid I don't know George, though."
*
That makes her blink and laugh, double taking at him. It's a strange laugh, a bit bitter, a bit tired, but a laugh never the less. "You…are shitting me. Steve Rogers went down in the ice in the 40s. Trust me, I heard all the stories growing up…" She states deadpan, still trying to figure out if this is some sort of joke.
*
Steve nods as his blue eyes peer over the heads of those who pass by. "Well, that's the thing, Sharon. I came out of the ice last year." As the pair get to the doorway, Steve opens it for her to pass through. "It was the serum. It kept me alive when I was down there."
*
"Oh… Oh." Sharon states, the fact that she doesn't know that probably speaks to JUST HOW DEEP undercover she was. The surprise is genuine, followed by just a hint of embarrassment as they walk into the cool spring evening. Sharon pauses there, taking a deep, slow breath of New York City air. It was so different. For a heartbeat or two she looks a decade older than she is, and remarkably home sick. She blinks the feeling back away, "Sorry…Captain Rogers. I… We didn't get much US news… where I was."
*
Steve shakes his head and smiles, "It's not a problem. In fact, it's kind of nice when people aren't really sure who I am for a bit." Steve walks her over to his parking spot where a pristine Harley Davidson sits. These depression era types always obsess over keeping their things perfect. He reaches for a helmet for Sharon and hands it over before he mounts the bike.
*
The first bit of real, human emotion that Sharon shows is a low, impressed whistle as she sees his bike. That's a bike to make a girl's knees weak. She arches a brow, a half laugh crossing her lips. "You…came to pick someone up from the airport on a… Bike? Now… that's the nicest piece of machinery I've seen in three years, but…" She nods to her suitcase, still looking half amused.
*
Steve looks a bit bemused as he spies the suitcase. He didn't think about that. And asking her to hold it wouldn't work either. And he's not sure if they could bungee cord it to the back. He exhales and thinks. "I'll hold it," he says as he comes to a decision. That should work. Right? The bike is all he has.
*
"…You'll…hold it?" Sharon asks with a bit of a laugh, shaking her head quietly. "That's going to be awkward as all hell. We can really stick it in a locker, I'll come back tomorrow. Or… Hold it between us. I mean, aren't you Captain America? You want to be caught with a lady pressed all up against you? What would the papers say?" She deadpans gently, a slight, tired smirk crossing her lips. She's attempting to look more human, to feel more like a person… It's still a bit hard.
*
"They might consider me a normal human being for once," Steve replies, honestly. "If you think it'd fit between us, we can try that. I was figuring I could hold it with one hand and drive with the other. Probably not the safest idea."
*
Steve hrms a bit and inspects, "You know, I think we could probably bungee this down." He moves towards the saddlebags on the opposite side of his bike and begins to get the straps.
*
"…If YOU are holding it, I'm driving us, big guy. I've driven bigger before. And smaller. What's the engine on this?" It was easier to swoon over the bike than it was the handsome man behind her. Even if Sharon was feeling the affects of having been so damn alone for years. That wasn't something that people spoke about aloud, especially in the CIA. It was just part of the job. "…And, I hope you get to be a normal human being on occasion. It'd be shite to be nothing but a poster boy the rest of your life."
Steve chuckles, "I hope I end up as a bit more than a poster boy." He holds out his hand for the black case and begins to tie it down to the back. "See? It'll work." Apparently he didn't like the idea of having it between them. "Panhead. But I hear they're making some new ones in the next couple of years. I may have to upgrade." Satisfied that the case is secure he hops back on and kickstarts the engine. It is loud.
*
The sound of the engine staring actually makes her shiver a bit. "…She still purrs real pretty…" Sharon admits, seeming content with the job he's done tying her bag on the back. She gives it one more test, but the thing is secure enough. She then steps forward and kicks her leg over the back of the seat, settling herself in behind him and wrapping her arms around his front. She sinks in against body, the feel of her all toned muscle. Her body was a weapon, just one hidden beneath jeans and a teeshirt. She's all tension for a heartbeat or two. She hasn't been this close to someone she wasn't stalking or getting information from in a long, long time. Then she forces herself to ease into it. "…Drive, Captain. Uh… shit. I guess whatever hotel is decent downtown." She doesn't exactly have a home here any more.
*
Steve frowns a bit as he pulls out of the parking garage and sets course for Manhattan. He turns back over his shoulder and speaks to her. "Are you just staying in New York for a couple of days, then?" he asks. For some reason he assumed she was staying. Steve stays mostly stoic on the trip. In contrast to her body he seems rather relaxed as he weaves through the traffic and heads towards the island. "We have a lot of room at the Avenger mansion if you want to stay a while. Not sure if you're big into saving money. That might be more my generation's thing."
*
"I… I don't know. I never really thought about what I'd do when it was over…" Sharon's voice is a bit distant in his ear, strangely shocked, a bit overwhelmed at the fact she's coming home. She is home. She never actually planned to do that. That might be when Steve recognizes the tone of her voice. Other soldiers had that tone, soldiers who expected to die on the front. Only… she didn't. And now she has no clue what do to with what is in front of her.
*
"Well, the offer is there if you decide you want to take us up on it," Steve says as he pulls out onto the bridge. It gets pretty loud at this point, so conversation is difficult, but he tries anyway. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he yells over the wind. "It'll take some time to get used to, but if I can do it anyone can. Where were you stationed?" he asks, picking up that she was working for Uncle Sam in some capacity.
*
"Russia at first… they pulled me to Vietnam this last year… " Then pulled her out. Because war is coming, everyone knows it, and they will let a cute little woman spy for them, but god forbid she's on the front lines. There is certainly a hint of anger behind her voice as she says that, but she holds on a bit tighter to him too. Human contact was almost a drug at this point, it had been so long. Her cheek rests between his shoulder blades, but her eyes stare out over the city beyond. It felt so strange to be back. "…If you have a guest room… and whoever these Avengers are won't mind. I… I wouldn't mind not staying in another hotel."
*
Steve almost regrets asking her once she's accepted. The place is kind of a mess, but they do have beds. And maybe it could ease Sharon's transition a bit. Surely there's no other reason. Or anything. He takes a right, heading north as they reach Manhattan, heading towards Central Park. "Well, it's settled then. Lots of places for takeout nearby." He spies a look behind him as he switches lanes. "How'd you like Russia?" he asks, taking them in order.
*
"… Cold. Lots of… beautiful history. Lots of blood. I think I like it better than England. It doesn't pretend to be this proper, elegant veneer overtop of hundreds of thousands of dead bodies. It just accepts that it's a barbaric place soaked in blood and politics. It's not apologetic about it. THey also won't hesitate to kill us for it. They think our… civil rights ideals, prosperity… freedoms… That it makes us weak. They are wrong, but it doesn't make them less dangerous." For a girl — no, woman — as cute as she was, she certainly was hardened.
*
"Well hopefully we don't find that out the hard way," Steve says, cryptically referring to the tension between the two countries. "What about Vietnam?"
*
"I… probably shouldn't be talking about this." It's probably a dodge, she could speak in generalities, but the woman has also probably been through a personal hell and back. Instinctively, she holds on just a bit tighter to the muscled man in front of her, still staring out over the city. "… You sure your friends won't mind my staying? I can get a hotel. I'm used to them by now."
*
"Nah, there's so much room there they won't mind," Steve says with a smile. "It's not too much farther," Steve adds as they make their way quickly through Manhattan. Before long, they're pulling into the small parkway of a beatup old Mansion directly across from Central Park. Steve shuts the machine down and knocks down the kickstand.
*
The mansion is given a long look. Sure, it was run down, but it was a MANSION. AN American Mansion in New York. Probably the nicest place she's seen in ages. Sharon gives a low, quiet whistle, "…whoever these Avengers are, they must be rich…" She mutters to herself, pushing one hand back through her now wind-mussed hair. She was probably in her thirties, early thirties, with the sort of features that lend themselves to youth and innocence. Only her eyes betray that. But she was still pretty, in an odd way. Home town girl, just faintly betrayed by the gun on her hip, hidden beneath her shirt.
*
"Well, I bought it with the money they owed me for the time I spent in the cube," Steve says, forever 25. "Come on, let's go take a look at where you'll be staying. He leads the woman into the side entrance and into the kitchen. It's missing a stove, but there's at least a refrigerator. Through there, it's up a flight of stairs after they pass a hallway of bedrooms, they finally come to one that has a bed. "So, this will work while you get on your feet."
*
The slim woman follows after him, carrying her suitcase along after she's untied it from his saddle bags. She's not a woman who waits around for a man to get something done for her. In fact, she's a little bit like a younger Peggy, but harder, somehow. More distant. Probably like Peggy after the war. She's not even winded after carrying the bag up to the room she's being offered. She ducks her head in and, with no mockery at all, blinks quietly. "It's… nice. Really nice. I… I'll be out of your hair in a day or two. Just need to yell at my boss for a new assignment."
*
Steve shrugs his shoulders, "You're not in my hair at all. Let me know if you need anything. Bathrooms are at the end of the hall. And if you get bored and want to hang out with someone, let me know." He smiles at her, "It was nice meeting you."
*
That ghost of a smile crosses her lips again. The smile of someone who knows she's *supposed* to smile right now, but it hasn't really clicked how to do that in her head any more. It's been so long since she had someone to smile at. But, Sharon is trying. "…Thanks. I… guess I should call Aunt Peggy. Tell her I got in safe. Then… maybe sleep. Jet lag is a thing." She sounds skeptical about sleep, but once more, she's going through the motions. This is what a person SHOULD do, so she's doing it. Auto pilot is a strange part of emotional shock and being back in New York was like being dropped in a pool of icewater.
*
Steve nods, "That makes a lot of sense. Let me know if I can help in any way." He gives her a final nod and excuses himself as he heads down the stairs to go work more on tiling the downstairs bathroom. It gives a good work out and by the time 10 pm rolls around, he's fast asleep.
*
A brief phone call to Aunt Peggy. Some cold pleasantries exchanged. Then a long, hot shower which actually brought some tears. No one could see them in the shower. Then she changes into the one comfortable, long shirt she has from home, and she settles down to sleep. Unsuccessfully. Staring at the ceiling, hours of organizing infomation in her head, trying to figure out what to do now, trying to process the fact she was back, alive, safe… Sleep was going to be impossible tonight.
She finally gives up a little before 3 am. She doesn't bother getting dressed again, so she's in nothing but a set of panties and that shirt that comes down to just her thighs. She stumbles out of her room, staring at the dark hall. Did he point out a kitchen? Coffee would be good. Or booze, if they had booze. She makes her way deeper into the mansion, kitchen hunting..
*
The movement in the house sparks Steve's attention. They don't have the best security installed here, yet, and everyone knows that the Avengers have moved in. Was it an enemy? Was it a burglar? Steve pushes himself out of bed and begins to investigate, moving slowly and quietly.
*
The woman moves almost silent as death. Clearly, highly trained, and the moment she was awake enough to realize she was making noise, she went completely quiet. But then, Steve is quite too and it's his house, he has the advantage on her. He'll catch the shadow of a slender form moving down the stairs, towards the kitchen area. She's not bothered to turn on a light so he may or may not realize it's Sharon…
*
In his sleep, Steve must have forgotten he has a visitor because he slinks down the hallway after the figure in the dark, trapping them in the kitchen. "Hey!" he yells as he comes up behind her, figuring due to her small frame that it is some sort of cat burglar or something. He looks to just put a good scare into her so that if she's got a gun, the surprise will rattle her.
*
He's not the only one half asleep, and Sharon's been living in a veritable war zone for years. So, surprising her isn't the best idea. She reacts on pure instinct and, though he's larger than her, she has years of martial art training and probably the advantage of surprise. She turns and, suddenly, Steve is being flipped over her shoulder, she using her tiny size against him. She follows him down immediately, twisting his arm up, legs straddling over to pin his hips, her eyes wide as a spooked cat. She's about to twist that arm more when she realizes who that handsome face beneath her is. "…Fuck… Steve…" She breathes out raggedly. She looks like a woman who has seen a ghost.
*
Steve is stuck below her, and by the time she realizes what's going on, he can't help but laugh. And he's laughing hard. "Thought you were a burglar. Guess I got more than I bargained for." He looks up at her. "Couldn't sleep?"
*
Well, there must be some humanity left in her because she can still blush, and robots or completely soul-dead people don't blush. She's half naked and straddling the most handsome man she's seen in years. Sharon immediately lets go of his arm, scrambling back off of him, bare thighs pulling away as quickly as they were present. "S-sorry…Sorry. God. Steve… I thought… hell, I don't know what I thought. Sorry. Are you okay? And… no. Couldn't sleep. It's… too quiet. It's weird."
*
"Yeah, I'm fine," Steve realizes what she's wearing and his voice dips a bit and he looks away. "Sorry, I didn't realize…"
*
"N-no…no… I'm the one who was… sneaking around your house. Sorry. Just… thought… coffee, or something… a drink. Something. You know." Sharon is tryign to be as stiff and proper as she can standing in nothing but a teeshirt. She's just ignoring it now, though her eyes stretch across his frame for a moment, stealing the chance to enjoy what she is seeing as well.
*
Steve's outfit is not as exciting. A tight white t-shirt and flannel pants is his bedroom attire of choice. "A drink? I've got some beer. That's about it." He moves over to the refrigerator, walking carefully in his barefeet, hoping not to step on anything. "I have Budweiser and Budweiser."
*
A half laugh escapes her lips, bittersweet and weirdly relieved. "… Budwiser sounds like… like the best thing since sliced bread, right now. God… I can't remember the last time I had a Budwiser." It's not the best beer, but it tastes like home, like America, and like a cold beer on a sleepless night. Steve has just offered her a life line.
*
Steve pulls out two bottles and hands one in her direction after he opens it at a stationary opener on the side of the fridge. "Cheers," he says before taking a plug. "Hopefully this helps you sleep."
*
She quietly clinks bottles against him, that weird smile returning once more. Sharon then knocks back a good sip of the Budwiser, her eyes fluttering shut at the taste a heartbeat or two. It did help. "…Thanks." She exhales quietly. Another long, deep drink, like a woman in a desert who has found water. She then nods to the hall, "Somewhere I can go and just…sit outside?"
*
"Yeah, there's a porch out back for that sort of thing. A couple of our contractors take their smoke breaks out there. Apologize for any cigarette butts thrown around," Steve explains as he takes another sip from his beer. "As for me, I really should head back to sleep. Heading out tomorow."
*
A slight nod to him, "Yeah, Of course. Trust me, I've seen worse. Thanks… You… you sleep well, Steve. Sweet dreams." One last smile from the blonde and then Sharon saunters back towards the porch and out into the darkness of night. She'd probably be there until dawn, but the beer helps.