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The bar is closing. Luke is systematically moving from table to table, wiping them down and then stacking the chairs onto the table so he can mop the floor later. He is in his usual working attire, being a almost to tight t-shirt and jeans, with a pair of sneakers on his feet. He whistles a little tune under his breath as the radio plays the newest Beatles single 'Eight days a week'.
The joke used to be that no one left the CIA but in a box. It was a joke. But, often, it wasn't. Sharon spent the last few weeks finding out just how close to not a joke it was, but she's back now, finally. More injured than he's ever seen her before, and she's come back from some rough jobs, but it's just after closing time that she limps in through the front door, one arm in a sling, half her face black and blue, but wearing her usual leathers and looking desperately around for a familiar face.
The sound of the door chime ringing as it opens has Luke turn towards the door, already starting to speak. "I'm sorry but we are clos….fuck me! Sharon? What the hell happened?" He drops the chair he was stacking and makes his way over towards the injured ex-cia agent. "Let me help you to a chair, and i'll fix you a drink. Looks like you could use it."R%RLuke takes one of the chairs from the closest table and slides it down onto the floor, moving it over so Sharon can sit down without having to move much further. "Name your poison, it's on the house."
A small wave of her good hand, "It's nothing lethal. Cracked ribs, didn't pop a lung… got lucky. But… felt like seeing a friendly face." Sharon rasps out, giving him a crack-lipped smile. She clearly walked here, or at least from the cab or the MTA, so she's mostly functional and a few more feet to a chair isn't going to be what kills her. Still, she gingerly sinks down into that offered seat. "…a… warm bed somewhere safe… sounds like the nicest poison of all right now. But… whiskey will be fine too."
"You know you are more than welcome to stay here as long as you want." Luke says without any hesitation as he moves towards the bar. "Mi casa, su casa or however that goes. Shit, I think I would feel better if you just moved in until you looked less like you just walked away from a bad bike wreck."
He grabs a bottle of whiskey from the shelves behind the bar, and doesn't bother with a glass as he takes a swig, before hoping over the bar and passing the bottle to Sharon. "So, do I need to go kick someone's ass, or did you already do it. I'll be happy to hear you tell me the other guy looks worse."
"I did it. Wasn't…meant to. Fucking CIA. Fucking… ass-hurt children… never let you out in anything but a box. They fucking tried… Fuck…" Sharon sounds like there is a lot more anger bubbling up over all of this but she's simply too exhausted to let it go. But she's angry — angry and hurt, not just physically. "Did SHIELD pull this shit when I walked out the first time? No… fuck… I was a fucking idiot." She admits with a faint growl behind her voice. SHe accepts the bottle and knocks back two good gulps.
Luke Cage shakes his head and pulls down a chair to sit down himself. "They tried to kill you? Sweet Christmas, that makes me want to head over to the local office and give them a piece of my mind, or a swift kick in the junk with a steel toed boot." He takes a deep breath and sighs, reaching out to lightly touch the bruise on the side of her face. "I swear, if they come after you here…I may not hold back like I usually do. It's bullshit."
"Of course they didn't…directly. Just gave me a job that should have killed me. I… I should have known. Fuck, I think I did, jus' didn't want to believe it. You always want to think better of people." Sharon sighs, waving it off with her good hand and taking one last, hard gulp of the whiskey bottle before putting it down. "It's fine. I'm tougher than I look. I…handled it. It just took longer than expected. It's done now… all over. Paperwork signed. I'm out and free. I… don't think they'd come here." But she doesn't sound totally convinced, now that she's thinking about it.
Sharon doesn't pull away from the touch on her face, the skin puffy and a bit hot to the touch as the worst sorts of bruises are. It's probably a few days old but still going through the nasty green phase. It follows up into her hair with a nice goose egg to match.
"Well, if they do come here, they are in for a surprise and a world of hurt." says Luke with a narrowing of his eyes. "At least your out, right? SHIELD isn't going to pull this kind of crap are they, or am I going to have an issue with them as well?"
"No, no… SHIELD isn't like that. Hell, I walked away ten years from them, first training class ever….and they just let me go. I didn't think the CIA was either… At least, not when I started." Sharon admits quietly. She then just lets her eyes sink shut, the pure exhaustion in her entire body more screamingly obvious than he's ever seen it in her. This walked the line — this was the time that almost broke her. Quietly, her cheek just sinks into leaning against his hand. The touch helps.
Luke Cage snorts, "You look like you could sleep for a week. Come on, girl. Let's get you up to bed. It's big, it's comfy and it's safe. You can sleep there as long as you want, and after you get a good nights sleep I am going to stick you in a nice warm bath with a glass of wine and some candles. I think you might need a bit of pampering after a fuckin' mission like that."
Luke stands up and with all the effort of someone lifting a sheet of paper he lifts Sharon, chair and all, and starts to carry her towards the stairs that lead up to the apartment. "And don't you dare bitch to me about treating you like a woman. I ain't in the mood for your feminist bullshit, you will be pampered and like it."
A husky laugh follows those words, Sharon's eyes reopening, a brow arching skeptically at him, "Really, I'll settle for the comfortable bed and warm company. I…" But then he's cutting her off and not daring to allow her to protest. Sharon just smirks at him, which gets only deeper when he scoops her up, chair and all. She gives a strange little laugh, arms instinctively going to wrap around the back of his neck, "God, Luke, I cracked a few ribs and dislocated a shoulder. I'm not in traction.." She mutters, but she's not really fighting him on it. The bed sounds too damn nice right now.
"Shut it, woman." says Luke with a grin as he carries her up to his room. "I told you, you're going to be pampered and like it. So zip it." He gives her a wink, "You can bitch and prove how tough you are later."
A few other choice mutterings, but Sharon seems to be taking that order rather seriously. Up beside his bed, the most tough part of the night is getting OUT of her clothes. The shoulder is bad, pretty severely dislocated when it happened, and that hurts like hell. The ribs are still bandaged up tightly beneath her clothing and she's not going to bother to unwrap them. She does take his help, if silently, in getting out of the clothes. There is a silent shame in needing help really just getting undressed. But, when it's all over, she stretches out in the bed next to his spot and is asleep within five minutes. She desperately needs the rest.