Right about the third day of being on her own in the house for a week, Sharon was beginning to understand why solitary confinement was such an effective means of prisoner control. There was literally nothing left to clean, no laundry to do, and she couldn't run errands. Everything has been straightened, everything had been put in its place, and the house now looked like someone with a good dose of obsessive compulsive disorder lived in it instead of a family of two teenage boys and three adults, of which only Sharon herself could be called orderly. Her cousin Kathy had called twice and had stopped by once, but she lived far enough away to where Sharon knew that was the only visit she was going to get. She had downloaded books from the library to the old Kindle that Nancy had given her, but had not been able to read more than a couple of paragraphs. She was in the middle of a crochet project that she had no motivation to pick up and finish. The calligraphy stuff had been packed up back into the box it had come in and set aside. She had binge watched Game of Thrones and the Big Bang Theory on Netflix, and had even illegally streamed some movies that were still in the theater to their smart TV. After all, what was one more felony? She had punched the heavy bag so often and run on the treadmill so long that her knuckles and the bottom of her feet were sore. She had taken to pacing the hallway like a caged lion, recognizing the signs of psychological distress, and that worried her. She honestly thought she would be able to handle being alone for a week without the family without too much trouble. After all, it was not like this was the most terrible situation in which she had ever found herself. The time she had been required to bust out of a ramshackle prison in the middle of the Belizean rainforest came to mind. That had been when her team had been about to bust up a joint human trafficking and drug running ring and had been sold out by an informant. She had been in that dank cell for two weeks with nothing but a mud floor to sleep on before finally over powering a guard, and fighting her way out. Then she had walked 70 miles straight through the jungle to the nearest settlement and managed to get herself smuggled on a truck to the nearest United States outpost. Surely pacing the hallways of a residential building in the mainland of the United States could not possibly compare to that? There was no reason for her to feel distressed like this.
But every other situation in which she had found herself had required her to use her wits and skills, and keep her mind sharp. Here she was barely keeping her edge, and that's what bothered her the most. She was not useful to anyone, in fact she rather saw herself as a burden on her family, despite their insistence that they were glad she was there, and an embarrassment to her colleagues. And what of Steve Rogers? Had he forgotten her? Did it matter if he did? It did, she realized.
She finally stopped pacing the hallway and climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom that she was using as room. She flopped on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Unbidden, she felt tears sting her eyelids. She angrily wiped them away, but that only made them come faster. Now she could add irritation with herself for crying like a baby to the jumble of emotions ricocheting around her head. The logical part of her mind that analyzed human behavior so well recognized that it was perfectly normal to feel out of sorts and lonely given her situation, and she knew that without her family providing the much needed distraction to keep her from focusing too much on her incarceration, that the full measure of what she was facing was no longer hidden behind the background noise of their presence. Everything she had ever worked for was gone, literally overnight. Twice. She had thrown every fiber of her being into becoming the best SHIELD agent that she could. Then she had been forced to help bring SHIELD down when it became known that Hydra was a part of it from the beginning. Her entire world had collapsed, everything that she had ever worked for. People she had thought of his colleagues and friends had turned out to be Hydra. People she had thought of his colleagues and friends that she knew were not Hydra had either been killed or scattered to the winds. She knew that Phil Coulson, miraculously saved from his encounter with Loki aboard the helicarrier when the Avengers had formed, had reformed SHIELD, but had not called her. She had joined the CIA, the one place she felt that her skills that could be utilized, only to have to battle suspicion from less than competent agents who would not have made it past level two or three in the SHIELD ranking system. With the media portraying SHIELD as a terrorist organization, it had been difficult to make them understand that maybe only 1/4 of the personnel of SHIELD had ever been Hydra, and that the rest had been dedicated men and women who were determined to protect the United States and the world from heinous threats like Hydra and so many others. You'd think they'd have never considered that fact, the way her CIA colleagues had made snide comments that she was supposed to overhear about traitor SHIELD agents and SHIELD personnel being so incompetent that they couldn't see a terrorist organization hiding in their ranks for over 70 years. Sharon had ignored them.
It had taken some time to dig herself a place in the CIA, and Everett Ross had done her a favor by taking her on his team in Berlin, subsequently getting her out of the United States and away from the suspicious eyes of those at CIA headquarters, and putting her skills to good use. Then her aunt died, and she had come across Steve Rogers again. And within a matter of 72 hours, her world had once again collapsed when she had thrown everything away to help him. She did not want to admit how much she had come to care for him during her stint as his protector and watch dog for SHIELD. To have had SHIELD collapse the way it did and the two of them part the way they had, with his frosty irritation at her lingering for two years before coming across each other at Peggy's funeral, had been a bit difficult for her to overcome. She had not relished the idea that he was mad at her, especially for doing her job. Then after Peggy's funeral they had made peace, and even come to understand, maybe even like each other a little bit. Actually it was a lot. He was the one who had kissed her, had made the first move, which she had not rejected. And there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't reply that moment in her head over and over. But now, once again, it look like another two years at least would pass before she ever saw him or heard from him, if she ever would again. Everything she had been through, and she likely would never see him again. And then, once her house arrest was over, then what? Her talents were not easily applied to just any profession. Oh sure, she could pretty much work anywhere with her degree is in psychology and law-enforcement experience. She supposed she could always become a night security guard somewhere, or a private investigator. But she knew she would never be satisfied in whatever role she took. Maybe she should try to contact Phil Coulson and see if he had a place for her in the newly formed SHIELD? He had not voluntarily called her, but maybe he thought she would not be interested? Of all people on the planet, she knew that Phil Coulson want understand why she had done what she had done. Mostly because she knew damn well he would have done the same himself. And he knew her skills. He would know that she would be helpful in the SHIELD he was trying to form. Yes, that's what she would do. She would see if Phil would take her. And if he wouldn't, then there was always working as a freelance analyst. Quite a few former active field agents did that upon retiring or leaving the agency. That she had left involuntarily really shouldn't be an issue if she was able to assist in ways that others couldn't. Yes, that's what she would do.
Her mind somewhat made up about the future, she felt the stinging behind her eyelid slowly start to subside. She was just going to have to be content with whatever she could carve out for herself after all this was over. And, as she had done after SHIELD had fallen, she was going to have to accept that Steve Rogers was not going to be a part of it.
She dozed off a bit, unusual for her in the middle of the afternoon, then pulled herself out of bed. She didn't really need to shower because she had not worked out much that day, being somewhat unmotivated. But she knew she would feel better if she did, so she took a short shower, and then went downstairs to find something to eat. Again, she didn't really need to cook, but she knew it would make her feel better and there was something to be said for having leftovers rather than just sandwiches to eat for the next few days. She scrambled through the pantry and was delighted to find there was enough ingredients to make a lasagna. It would be a lot for one person to eat, and she suspected she would be good and sick of lasagna after about three days, but at the moment sounded heavenly. She dug out the cheese and sauce and Nancy's large baking pan and started layering noodles and sauce and a can of mushrooms that she had found in the pantry. She layered four different kinds of cheeses from the refrigerator into the casserole, knowing that the cheese would need to be eaten anyway, and put the entire concoction in the oven to bake.
When it was ready, she sliced herself a generous piece and brought it to the couch in the living room to flip through channels for anything interesting to watch. She settled on some show posing as a documentary attempting to explain how aliens were responsible for every major human achievement in history, followed by a show where blacksmiths competed against each other to forge the best bladed weapon out of bits of old road sign, which she actually found fairly interesting. She turned off the TV and cleaned up the kitchen, and checked the clock. It was only 9:30. At no point in her life had this ever been an acceptable bedtime, not even as a kid. But admitting that she literally had nothing else to do that sounded appealing, she resigned herself to the fact that it was going to be early bedtime for her. Not that she ever slept through the night. She had battled insomnia most of her life, worse since she had been locked up in the house. She often woke up several times throughout the night, flipping through the small television set channels in her bedroom until she found something boring enough to put her to sleep, sometimes working on her crochet or knitting project until she fell asleep, waking up with the pointy bits of the needles and hooks digging into her butt. At one point she had even taken into watching old reruns of the Honeymooners. She didn't anticipate that this evening would be much different. After checking all of the doors and windows, as was as her custom, and arming the alarm, knowing full well that it would not be enough to stop an actually trained professional from getting into the house if they wanted to get to her, she tromped upstairs and collapsed into bed, later remarking with some surprise at how easily she had fallen asleep.
She dozed in and out of sleep and semi-sleep. At various points throughout the night, she would find herself staring at the lacy curtains in her window, only to realize she was dreaming when she suddenly found herself back in either her office at SHIELD or her office at the CIA facility in Berlin. Her mind flashed with real and imagined images of the Avengers, specifically Steve, running at each other like to ancient armies across a battlefield, and visions of Steve being thrown back against a plane or a wall. She felt herself calling out his name, suddenly finding herself surrounded by thick fog, calling for him. She had had this dream before, and he never answered. But for some reason, this time he did.
*Sharon. Sharon.*
"Steve? Where are you? I can't see you."
*I'm right here* came his whispered voice. *Right here next to you.*
She turned around frantically in the dim fog. "I can't see you."
She heard him chuckle. *That's because you need to open your eyes first.*
Suddenly she jerked awake, realizing she had been dreaming. But the sound of a low voice still echoed in her darkened bedroom. And she suddenly became aware of breathing not her own, and the warmth of a presence less than 3 feet away from her left side. Someone was here in the room with her, someone who had gotten past the alarms and locked doors, and the audio and visual bugs around the house planted by the CIA keep an eye on her. Reflexively, she swung her fist out in the direction of the shadow near her bed, and sensed rather then saw him jump back. A strong, firm, but not hurting grip wrapped itself around her wrist, stilling her.
"Hey there, easy!" came the low voice.
Sharon still wasn't completely awake yet, reacting on instinct, and quickly flipped herself over the grip on her left wrist and came to her feet beside the individual who had a hold on her. But before she could swing with her right hand, his other hand grabbed that wrist and pushed her up easily against the wall with a strength she now realized it was not that of a normal human. His hips pushed against hers pinning her to the wall, but keeping his face well out of reach of any attempt at a headbutt.
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up there! Sharon it's me, it's Steve. Steve Rogers. Cool it. It's just me!"
Finally she snapped awake, recognizing him. But she still couldn't believe it. She took a step back and he released her, stepping back, and then reached over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. A dim but clear light flooded the room, and her eyes fell on his familiar face, a face she had not seen in nearly 2 years. Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers stood in the middle of her bedroom.
