I've been having *a lot* of Sharon Carter thoughts since TFATWS. Actually, since CW, really. I'm here to admit this is my first go at writing Sharon and some of this may not be accurate, canon wise. I tried to do my best research into more about Agent 13 and her character but certainly took some liberties here. In my mind, there was a bit of time before Sharon got her pardon hearing so this goes somewhere in there.
I also have a lot of thoughts about time travel and Peggy and Steve and their life in the timeline and there is some open ended thoughts about that worked into this, too. This is simply my interpretation based off of what we were presented in the canon of the MCU plus some brainstorming. But hey, that's why we write fanfiction, right?
Anyway, I have no beta and this is a bit clunky but away we go!
Sam Wilson had absolutely no intention to ever return to Madripoor. He could safely pack those memories away and go back to thinking it was a made up place from a terrible movie. Yet, when he finished off the paperwork securing the pardon for Sharon Carter - crossing every 't' and dotting every 'i' - he had a visit was imminent.
Bucky, who suspiciously kept extending his vacation at the Wilson family home in Delacroix, offered Sam a lot of advice before he left. Most of which he tried to hide behind fluffy metaphors and codewords, to avoid prematurely scarring Sam's nephews.
"Remember you should always travel with a.. lollipop. At least one. Maybe concealed in a holster behind your back." Bucky clicked his fingers against the dinner plate ahead of him, tilting his head as he looked at Sam with narrowed eyes. "And keep in mind that the local ice cream men have networks of friends and questionable intentions."
"You know, we do Active Shooter Drills at school, right?" Cass chirped Bucky from across the table, adjusting his glasses. "We know what lollipop means."
"My favourite lollipop on Fortnite is the sniper rifle," AJ added in, raising his hands up to mimic focusing on the scope of a gun.
"Okay, enough is enough," Sarah cut off both her sons from continuing their part of the conversation. "Dishes, boys. Then I'll release the Wifi password again, okay?"
As the two young boys hurried to clear the table after dinner, Sarah shifted in her chair and looked directly at her brother. "Seriously Sam, please be careful. The way you two talk about this place leads me to believe you'd be better off not going."
"Well, Sharon and I had a deal. So I'm going to help her get home for that meeting and make sure she gets her pardon."
"You know, it takes a special kind of loyalty to help a friend move," Sarah continued, raising a curious eyebrow.
Bucky grabbed his beer bottle, matching Sarah's curious look. "Especially out of a lawless, crime-ridden city."
"Hey." Sam pointed his index finger at Bucky. "We owe a lot of gratitude to Sharon, it's the least I can do. She's never going to get the apology she really deserves so for the sake of my conscience, getting her safely returned to American soil is a good place to start."
"So are you going to explain to me what the fuck just happened, Carter?"
Sharon let out a hard laugh as she pressed her thumb against the keypad to her door, fumbling slightly as Sam's grip around her shoulder tightened. She hobbled inside, attempting to blow away a wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyesight.
Okay, she knew she didn't need Sam to help her move. Like she had any real items of importance to bring home with her from the spectacle that was her home in Madripoor. But, she had one last favour to return and having a backup she trusted had been essential to the plan going smoothly.
"I just.." Sharon let out a long exhale as Sam helped her to sit on the edge of the couch. "Couldn't leave without saying goodbye to some old friends."
Sam huffed, shrugging off his coat and heading towards the bathroom. "Do all of your friends shower you with bullets and throw knives when you try to leave?"
Sharon winced as she adjusted to unbuckle her vest and jacket. She hadn't intended for things to go so poorly but she had been very grateful for Sam's quick response time and his aim. It turns out trying to help a family rid their debt to a crime boss by ways of blackmail wasn't the best solution but it seemed to have worked. Threatening revealing some secrets to the Power Broker had settled the debt but hadn't left a lot of happy bad guys.
The cut on Sharon's leg was indicative enough.
Truthfully, the only real reason she was looking forward to going back home, outside of seeing her father after a very long time, was the opportunity for some peace and quiet. Less bad guys, less watching over her shoulder, more living. She had made her way in Madripoor and most of the time, she indulged. But other days, it felt like she was wearing a mask to make to ensure survival.
Surviving had been key.
She survived that bullet to the torso in Manhattan. In comparison, everything that had been waiting for her in Madripoor seemed trivial. Wrapping up some loose ends was not going to take long and when Sam called her with the good news, she surprised even herself when the tears of relief fell.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" Sharon tossed her layers to the ground, leaving just a tight black tank top on her upper body.
Sam rolled his eyes as he took a knee in front of the couch, placing down the bag of medical supplies from her emergency kit. Gently, he lifted Sharon's leg to assess the damage. "I was a pararescue for a long time. I'm well trained." He let out a whistle when he analyzed the cut. "Think you can get out of these pants?"
"Wow, Sam. I'm sure there is a nicer way to ask a girl that."
Sam stood up with another eye roll, giving her a minute to peel off her jeans. Stripped down to just a muscle tank and slacks himself, he shuffled over to Sharon's bar cart, running his hands over his choices. The half-empty bottles clink at his touch. "I don't have any rubbing alcohol so one of these better do the trick." He picked up a bottle he recognized as vodka and headed back to the couch.
Sharon's position remained mostly the same, though now she was only in a pair of underwear. Her left leg, with the cut, was hanging off the couch while she hugged the other tight towards her chest. Her chin was resting on her knee, her lips turned up into a smile. "C'mon, pararescue."
Sam was not used to this Sharon. Mind you, he reflected he didn't know very much about Sharon at all. His Sharon Carter fact sheet was sparse. Legacy family member, top of her class with SHIELD and the CIA, what appeared to be a penchant for flirting with Steve Rogers and impressively trained in hand-to-hand combat. He could add 'tenacious art dealer' and 'risk taking vigilante' to her qualifications, too. And maybe bitter.
It was the bitterness that stood out to him and the bitterness that lingered.
Sam sat on his knees in front of the couch, offering the bottle of vodka to Sharon as he worked at cleaning up the slowly dripping blood from her calf. When he heard the pop of cork being pulled from the bottle, he watched her take a large swig of the alcohol.
Her eyes said why not.
He was starting to think her eyes said a lot more than that, even.
Sam swallowed and kept at his task, piling a clean cloth in his hand and retrieving the bottle from her.
"You know, part of me was insistent about coming to help you get home because I thought maybe you'd find a reason to stay." Sam pressed the vodka soaked cloth against her wound without warning.
Sharon hissed momentarily then smirked once more. "Now why would you think that?"
Sam wanted to say 'because I don't think I've ever seen you really smile' but instead, he shrugged a shoulder.
"Because the balance shifts when you get home. You have to play catch up, set a new course. No more rogue activities." Sharon scoffed in response, tipping her head back onto the golden couch. "Oh, come on, Carter. You don't think I'm an idiot, do you?"
"Sam, the less you say -
"I know, I know." He pressed his tongue over his lips, eyes narrow as he looked at the cut. He'd be lying to himself if he ignored how soft the skin of her leg felt in his hand. "I'm not going to do that thing where I tell you I understand. Because I don't. But when you get home, it might feel like a fresh start."
Sharon didn't reply. Instead, she chewed on her lip, brows furrowed. When you get home…
Sam patched up her leg as best as he could. Luckily the bleeding had stopped. At worst, she'd end up with an unfortunate scar. They traded shifts in the shower and when Sam rejoined her in the living room, pulling some gaudy, tourist themed t-shirt he found in her closet over his head, Sharon was stretched out on the couch again. She was in some sort of casual wear - terry cloth shorts and a sweater - and nestled on her lap was a glass of cognac liquid. Maybe the collection of bottles were going to be completely empty by the time they left Madripoor.
"So," Sam made his way towards her, dropping onto the chair opposite and pouring himself a glass to match. He watched her - wavy hair half dry, cheeks tickled pink from the alcohol. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Sharon tilted her head, a fractured frown appearing across her face. "Do you?"
Silence stretched between them as Sam sipped his drink. He leaned back on the chair, closing his eyes for a moment. With a sharp nod, he spoke. "It was a small ceremony. His granddaughter played piano and sang. Bucky gave a small eulogy. But it was.. hard."
Sharon tried not to react. Suddenly the far wall of her living room was a lot more interesting to look at. Because if she looked at Sam, she was going to see that sadness in his eyes. The sadness she had been successfully avoiding for a long, long time.
"Did you know any of your great aunts and uncles, Sam?"
A wave of nostalgia swept over Sam as he considered his response. "Most of our family lived within twenty miles of each other. I was raised by a whole community, really."
"Ah." Sharon shifted, wincing slightly. She left her glass, now empty, on the table. "I wasn't lying when I said Aunt Peggy kept secrets. There were a lot of things very close to her chest. You see, it was just me and my dad growing up. My grandpa - Peggy's brother - died long before I was born. Peggy called occasionally. Sent birthday cards. We moved a lot but most of my life was spent in Chicago. I never really knew.. great Uncle Steven." She drew his name out slowly, her eyes closed tight. "Sort of feel like an idiot now, though."
"Sharon."
"I never thought I was going to date Captain America. I mean, even kissing him was impulsive and.. well, maybe something he and I both needed at the time. A distraction, a flicker of possibility. All I know is - I got nothing good out of it."
Sam said her name again.
"No, really, Sam. I know I made a choice the minute I drove away with that stolen gear in my trunk. But you made a choice too. So did Bucky. And so did Steve." She stilled, taking a deep breath. "I also made a choice to never end up feeling used like that again. And that has served me well here."
Sam watched her - closely. As if he wanted to crack through that facade, dig in a little bit deeper. He supposed it wasn't his place to keep pressing and yet..
"Has it? I saw a big party and lots of people but not one friend. I see a big house and a whole lot of quiet. You can't tell me this -" He motioned his hand around the space. "-filled that part of your soul."
Sharon would never admit how heavy that truth was. She had never been the friend type, anyway. She switched high schools a few times and by the time she qualified for the training program at SHIELD, her guard was further up than she expected. It's hard to know how to build trust when you're trained to be a spy. It's hard to believe anything is real with the weight of your last name dragging you down.
Admittedly, she wasn't certain she had much of a soul left to fill anyway. The person she had become in Madripoor - it wasn't what she wanted or expected. How was she supposed to run into the arms of her father when that dripping heaviness and guilt lingered? Was she really going to leave all of that behind? Did she want to?
"Honestly, Sam? At first, being on the run felt free. No one knew who I was, no one knew my name." Sharon dragged lip through her teeth as she adjusted, swinging her legs off the couch to face Sam directly. Her hand reached for the bottle. His hand stopped her. "My dad told me a lot of second hand stories about my aunt. Incredible stories. She made a difference in everything she did. How the fuck was I ever supposed to live up to a legacy like that?"
Sam let out a hard laugh. "Legacy. I know, Cart- Sharon. I know."
Sharon met his gaze. Of course Sam knew. If anyone else might understand that emotion she wrestled with, it was Sam. It was then she realized Sam's hand was still resting on hers, keeping the bottle secure on the table. When her eyes flicked down to it, he pulled it back.
"The thing about a legacy," Sam continued, "is that it's up to us whether we follow through. We get to decide what the next legacy looks like. That's a different responsibility than what Steve or Peggy carried. And I don't want to throw that away."
Do you?
Chewing on her lip, Sharon Carter considered. She thought about what she left behind, what she lost, what she found. About all the hard, dark nights when she first found herself in Madripoor. When she stared at her phone and wondered if maybe she'd get a secure message - something that indicated what she had done was for good.
She thought about the last five years - the helplessness that shook Low Town when bodies disappeared and how the functionality of their society changed overnight. She considered why she had made those brash decisions - taking those first meetings, explaining her skill set, walking a very thin line between thriving and falling.
She thought about hurt and loss and what life meant now. What all the tomorrows meant - what her new life chapter was going to look like.
Then, she considered Sam Wilson. Broad shouldered and bold, but soft. Annoyingly persistent and sarcastic, but kind. Physically strong, morally stronger. Sam's cheeky grin and playful touches, his respectful boundaries and the questions that toed the line.
Warm hands on her legs, toothy grin invading her comfort zone, a chiseled chest just out of reach...
It was Sam refilling their glasses, clinking his with hers to send it closer to her side of the table, that scattered those thoughts.
"I did have a friend. One.. a very close friend. I wouldn't have survived without having him as an escape. But.. then everyone came back and he didn't hesitate to head back to Cape Town to track down his long lost wife." Sharon grabbed her glass from the table and brought it to her lips. "You're actually wearing one of his shirts."
Sam hesitated as he tried to read her mood. That sounded like a thinly concealed heartbreak and he didn't feel comfortable asking her to unpack that, too. Finally, he smirked, pulling at the neckline of his t-shirt. "Well, you're better off if the dude had such terrible taste."
Sharon smiled. "Yeah. I'm better off."
Their conversation veered off into Sharon's life in Madripoor. If Sam realized she was glossing over facts and changing details as she went, he didn't mention it. He lamented about Bucky's budding relationship with his sister and Sharon rolled her eyes. They laughed a lot and Sam noticed that every now and then, she even smiled.
"Help me to bed, Cap?" Sharon pushed herself up from the couch and stood, avoiding putting pressure on her leg. Sam smirked and headed to her, snaking an arm under her as she leaned onto his side and limped down the hall. Inside her room, Sam carefully helped her into the bed and before he could even make a smart comment about where he should sleep, Sharon tugged on his hand. "C'mon, we're both adults, Sam. I think we could both use some good old fashioned cuddling, don't you think? Some platonic skin on skin contact?"
Sharon considered if she was trying to fill a void or if she just couldn't resist the urge to feel Sam's arms around her. But, given how quickly Sam slid under the sheets - after removing the terrible t-shirt - she thanked herself and the whiskey for her bold voice.
A calm silence filled the room. Sam pulled her close. Sharon could feel his heartbeat against her ear.
"So, I get why you have that big collection of bottles on the cart. You've gotta deal with the fact that you kissed your uncle."
"Sam!" Sharon swatted his chest. Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling bold.
"Sorry. I just had to say it out loud. Just once."
She squeezed his side. "You know, Bucky asked me to bring home your pimp suit. I can make room in my bag-
"Okay, okay. No more uncle kissing talk. I promise." He pressed a kiss to the top of Sharon's head. "Hey. I wanted to say thank you again. For all your help."
"You've said it enough, Sam. I know you're just grateful I'll be around more often now to save your ass - again. What's the running count now? Three saves? Four?"
In the morning, all Sharon needed to do was grab her go bag and head to the airstrip with Sam. He had arranged secure transport to get them the hell out of dodge when the sun rose. She had a feeling she'd be back one day - there would always be unfinished business in Madripoor. But as she traced her fingers down Sam's chest, as she sighed into his embrace, as she listened to his heart beating, for the first time in a long time, she considered her future instead of her past. And she hoped Sam Wilson was in it.