fuck with me & I'll fuck you up

Sharon and Sam all but carried Steve into the darkened studio apartment, dropping him on the couch almost as soon as they cleared the threshold. Sam had his trauma kit open on the coffee table by the time Sharon locked the door and turned on the lights, and then they fell into silent but tandem lockstep to get Steve to drink some water while Sam checked his vitals. Steve looked like he was either concussed, dehydrated, or in shock; he either couldn’t or wouldn’t focus on Sam even as he flashed a light directly into his eyes or manhandled his leaden limbs to check his pulse.

“How does he look?” Sharon asked from the kitchenette window.

“He’d look better if he could answer you himself,” Sam said, and just as he’d hoped, Steve’s brow furrowed in response. Sharon entered just as Sam cracked a smile.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped. Steve tried to turn around on the couch to follow her voice, and within seconds, she was on the couch next to Steve.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Steve dropped back on the couch and squinted at her, then up at Sam, then closed his eyes and nodded.

It had been a long day. Just one more in a series of days that felt as if they were never-ending. The minutes lasted far too long and the hours bled into the next. The days felt as if they would never come to an end, though they were over too soon.

This push-and-pull of too much and not enough. Time, energy. You name it.

She was stressed. For a moment, she felt weak. Stress wasn’t foreign to her. It had kept her alive; had compelled her to keep going, to move forward. She shouldn’t feel like this. Debilitated. 

What would her handlers say if they saw her now, like this? 

A spider spins webs and entraps her prey, and Natasha was very good at spinning webs, as well as entrapping prey. She relied on those skills, skills she had learned the hard way, and they had served her well, that is, until now.

She felt off-kilter, though she couldn’t voice that. No, that would be most unwise. All of this was new to her, and though she didn’t like being out of her comfort zone, it had been a long time since she found herself in an uncomfortable situation. Though, if she were honest - with herself, and with the others - she would have to agree with the proceedings, even if she didn’t like them.

She needn’t have to like them. They were necessarily, and thus, the right course of action.

Though a spider that’s trapped, held captive, and sequestered can escape, confining a spider does her no favors. She wouldn’t voice it to anyone, for she seldom voiced this thoughts, but finding herself at the mercy of others left her uneasy. 

It was then, she was pulled from her reverie by a simple text.

13: Hey. Are you up to anything? I could use a girl’s night if you’re up for it.

Natasha smiled. Yes, a girl’s night out would be great.

I’m up for whatever you’re up for.

Sharon smiled at Natasha’s return text. Thank God. She and Natasha didn’t often have time to sit down and talk when seas were calm, and now everyone around her was losing their goddamn minds. Possibly including herself after the day she’d just had.

Want to meet at my place for pizza, beer and bitching? Or there’s a decent bar a few streets over. I can be ready in an hour either way.

Jim couldn’t do much more than watch as Tony was escorted to the hanger, though he already knew he was going to be talking to Tony as soon as he got his clearance to go –

“Colonel Rhodes.”

Jim stopped walking and saluted Ross as he entered the hallway.

“I’m arranging a twelve-man SWAT team to pursue Rogers and Rumlow. I need you to debrief them ASAP.”

Jim didn’t bother trying to mask his disbelief.

“Sir, I’m more than prepared to – ”

“Consider it a favor that I’m not sending you,” Ross interjected. “This is a dead-or-alive retrieval, and far be it from me to ask you to put your job before your vigilante buddies.”

Ross was giving Jim his best steely-eyed, stone-jawed I fucking dare you to fucking fuck with me glare.

Jim didn’t even blink.

“Unless that’s twelve SWAT for Rogers and Rumlow each, Sir, that’s not enough – and, unless you know exactly where they’re headed, we don’t have time to drag that many people around for the search. I’ll have a team ready and up in the time it takes you to prep the fifty men you’d need just to find the door.”

Jim really, truly did get a kick out of the particular shade of red Ross turned when his bluff had been called. Ross stepped in close; Jim held his ground.

“To be clear: Stark has just been relieved of duty. So. If all of you don’t want to end up on trial for collusion, then you will retrieve every last one of those sons of bitches, and you will not hesitate to bring them back in body bags if you have to. Understood?”

Jim indulged in a few seconds of staring-off before he answered.

“Yes. Sir.”

Keep reading

It turned out that there weren’t many people Sharon trusted with this particular mission, but there was one, and she’d hardly even had to talk him into it. He had filled out the preliminary paperwork while Sharon had arranged for transportation, and by the time they were in the air, Sam Wilson was as good as a probationary government enforcer. Now he was silent in the pilot’s seat, Sharon to his left in the copilot’s.

“You okay?”

Sam’s hands flexed around the yoke of the plane.

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

“Steve will be fine. He always is. I’m asking about you.”

Sam shrugged sharply with one shoulder. Behind them, Sharon’s field partner, Rachel Leighton, pretending not to be eavesdropping as she double-checked her gear, though Sharon knew damn well Rachel was listening in.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been dragged out of retirement. Didn’t regret it the first time.”

Sam hadn’t turned to look at her, so she likewise returned to gaze to the windscreen.

“I should have gone with him.”

Sam sighed and dropped his shoulders.

“Me, too.”

Sharon looked to Sam again. This time, he returned the gesture.

“But like you said, he’ll be fine. Always is.”