#falcon13

Some Sam x Sharon fluff!

She does want to go home. She does. 

But she can’t. In this hypothetical world where she isn’t wanted by the government, she still can’t. Her dad told her long ago not to call him again, bitterness in his voice and a story about the police on his tongue, that made Sharon’s stomach twist with guilt. Her coworkers and friends have all lost touch with her, the ones she can keep track of seem to deny ever knowing her, either from shame or from protectiveness (Sharon thinks she knows which). Her job, her apartment, her life - it’s all lost. 

Sam Wilson comes to her, pardon in hand. Shield in tow, uniform worn, flight suit still strapped on. He’s Captain America now. She heard him talk about it on the news. A part of Sharon is still cynical about it - she knows how unfulfilling a life as a hero can be. But she has to admit it suits him. It does. 

Sam looks tired. Holding her pardon, Sharon feels a little of the frost between them melt. No one teaches you to forgive and forget in Madripoor, but there’s something about Sam that reminds her of the lesson. Sam looks tired, and Sharon knows how much he went through, his journey to the shield and his journey after. He worked hard for her pardon and he worked hard to be where he is, and the urge to hug him, the urge to wipe away his tiredness, that urge is strong. 

“Thanks,” she says, voice carefully clipped.

Sam smiles, and it’s beautiful, tooth gaped and soft, “I’m catching a plane tomorrow. Come with.” 

She shakes her head, “I’m going to stay here.” 

Sam’s smile falters. “Why?” he asks, confused. 

Sharon laughs, short and fake. She answers, “what do I have to go back to?”

Sam considers this, seeming to review Sharon’s life so far. He would find nothing, Sharon knew, even if he seemed to be counting all the reasons for her to come back. Then, Sam gives her a tiny amused smile and says, plain and clear, “me, Shar.”

If you would have asked Sam what he thought dating Sharon was like (Steve asked it sometimes, while they were on the run, staring with regret at his phone), what she was like before the Civil War, he would have said... she would always be on time for dates. She would have hated coming home to a messy apartment. She wouldn’t go on a second date with a guy who brought her flowers. She would love to spar as a form of foreplay.

The image Sam had of Sharon before the accords was one of someone who always did what was right, but prioritised doing what was smart, what was logical, what was important. 

That may have been who Sharon was once upon a time, but it wasn’t who she was now. 

Sharon didn’t operate by a schedule anymore. She didn’t play by the laws. She did what she needed to do in order to survive. She was messy, lawless, surprising, and (still) so smart.

Sam loved it. Sam loved her. 

He loved how just being with Sharon caused a spike in his adrenaline. He loved how Sharon understood him so effortlessly. He loved how she made time for him, and he would feel lucky to have her sleeping in his arms.

He loved it a little less when Sharon broke into his apartment, unannounced. (The glass was a bitch to clean.)

As Sam entered the apartment, he noticed the subtle signs that Sharon was there. Toeing off his shoes and putting down his keys, Sam sighed upon the subtle burst of air coming from the broken window. When he passed through the window, he noticed the sherds have been swept away, but there were some traces of blood that haven’t been cleaned. A jacket was thrown on the sofa’s back rest, the leather seeming expensive and soft to the touch, probably smelling of Sharon’s sweat as well. Sharon rearranged the pictures on the refrigerator, digging up pictures kids drew of him as Captain America and hanging them up. Sam smiled at the sweet gesture but rolled his eyes when he found Sharon didn’t throw away the remains of her takeaway. Sharon never announced her arrival, but Sam always knew who it was as soon as he walked through the door.

The biggest clue? In Sam’s bedroom, there Sharon lay. Her clothes were thrown all over the room, making a trail to the bathroom, and she was reading on the bed, relaxing in her underwear, her knuckles wrapped in bandages.

“You have a key, you know.”

Sharon turned her head to him, hair falling down her face, framing how beautiful she was. Sam couldn’t resist a grin. She smiled upon seeing him leaning on the door, stretched, and rolled onto her back. She reminded him of a cat. Isn't that what they called her? Black Cat? “Less of a chance people see me through the window,” Sharon excused, eyes only for him.

Sam huffed and came closer, crawling over her to kiss Sharon’s shoulder. She hummed blissfully. “You left blood on my carpet.”

Sharon shrugged, unbothered, “assholes needed to be punched.”

Sam gingerly picked up her fingertips, bringing her knuckles to his lips, gently, lips brushing over the cloth. “You’re the asshole.”

“You love it,” she smirked, eyes lifting from his lips to his eyes. Sharon had the best eyes.

“So your day was good?” Sam neither denied nor confirmed the statement.

She shrugged, “I got the job done.”

Sam smiled, hiding his grin behind her palm, grinning into her skin. Sharon loved it, but she’d never admit it. “Proud of you.”

Sharon snorted, “no, you aren’t, Cap.” She tore her hands away from Sam’s grasp, wrapping her arms around his neck instead, “how was your day?”

“It was better. I think the public is getting used to me. Villains aren’t but I get to kick their ass.”

Sharon laughed.

“Someone asked me if I’m going to stop you today,” Sam confessed, quietly. His eyes were on her abs instead of her eyes.

Sharon snorted, “good luck with that.” 

Sam chuckled. They had an agreement; they stay out of each other’s way, and they get to keep this, however long they can.

Sam loved their relationship. He did. But the way he was feeling about Sharon lately made him wonder how sustainable their agreement will be in the future. “I ignored them. I might have given them a different answer if I knew you would break my window again,” Sam teased, looking down at Sharon with a smug expression.

Sharon rolled her eyes. Sam beamed. “I think Captain America’s talents are overvalued,” she said, clawing at his suit. 

Sam scoffed, flicking her ear as retort. She continued clawing nonetheless. “You’re not in my area of jurisdiction. But if you were...” 

“We would have ourselves the battle of our life,” she mocked.

Instead we get the romance of a lifetime, Sam thought, ever so sappy.

“When’s your next job?” Sam asked. How long are you staying? Sam thought. Please stay forever. 

Sharon tsked, coldly saying - “can’t tell you that, Wilson” - but she softened upon the look on his face. Caressing his cheek, she whispered, “but you’ll have me for about a week.” 

Sam nodded, accepting this. He lowered his gaze, laying his head on Sharon’s chest.

He kissed her neck, breathing in the scent of her shower. He kissed her collarbone, nuzzling the empty space in her neck. He kissed further down Sharon’s body, worshipping every minute they’ll have together. She sighed, fingers grazing Sam’s hairline. Sharon was cynical, all hard edges and walls up in order to survive. But when she was with Sam? She was loose and relaxed, soft and warm.