Chapter Three

Sharon's day started as it usually did, with a pre-dawn workout down in the first level gymnasium.

Despite the early start, she was was still too late to workout with Steve, which was just as well since he tended to be more of a distraction - even if that distraction still involved getting her heart rate up.

It was the price she paid for dating a ridiculously attractive man, one who lit a lusty fire in her gut every time she looked at him. She'd seen enough of him post-workout, his hair damp and his clothes sticking to every glorious muscle, to know there was no way she'd be able to focus on her own cardio routine with him lifting weights only a few feet away.

Seriously, Sharon, she told herself as she warmed up on the mat. Stop thinking about how hot Steve is or you'll never get through your workout - much less get anything else - done today.

With the current state of their relationship, stalled as it was at second base, Sharon also didn't need to get herself worked up by mere thoughts of Steve. She'd already found it difficult to sleep last night after necking on the couch with him during the movie they'd neglected to watch.

Most of the time, she couldn't believe how lucky she was to be with Steve, to be held and kissed and cared for by him. And other times, usually in the dark of night, alone in her own bed, she couldn't help but want more. It had been six months since their "first date" at the diner up north and they hadn't advanced past kissing and light petting.

Sharon knew and tried to understand where Steve came from. For him, 1945 had only been a few years ago and he missed out on the sexual revolution of the Sixties and Seventies. Even discounting that, Steve had been shy around women before and during the war. His relationship with her aunt - something all three of them acknowledged but tried not to be weirded out by - notwithstanding, Steve had almost zero experience with women.

Sharon also knew the merits of waiting, having been through the regret of giving her virginity to a boy in college who had not deserved it - or her. She didn't want to rush their relationship, knowing in her heart that it would be worth the wait, but that didn't mean that she didn't deal with an unhealthy dose of sexual frustration.

Feeling the rising heat of that frustration, Sharon pumped the volume on her metal playlist and chose the winding track Sam had chalked out on the floor. She looped around the sparring mat, past the free weights and machines, up the stairs to the elliptical and treadmill, back down and behind the parking level where her car and Steve's bike sat next to the cargo van they sometimes used, back toward the warm up mat and elevator.

Pushing herself, pouring the pent-up sexual energy into her run, she felt the sweat dripping down the sides of her face, her back, and pulled off her loose-fitting tank top and tossed it on the mat as she passed.

As she entered her fifteenth lap - equivalent to nearly two miles - the gentle ping of the elevator drew her attention as Steve stepped off, dressed in snug jeans and a tee-shirt that stretched across his manly torso, carrying his leather jacket over his shoulder.

The flame of desire she'd been trying to douse with sweat flickered back to life even as a wave of self-consciousness washed over her. Sharon wiped the sweat out of her eyes and wished she hadn't discarded the tank, hadn't lost track of time. She'd intended to be done and back upstairs by the time Steve came down to leave for his first appointment.

She didn't even mind that he was going to see her sweaty, panting, with her hair a sticky mess, her shorts and sports bra soaked with perspiration and her face splotchy from exertion. No, the only thing she was worried about were the scars on her stomach, the crude Hydra logo carved into her flesh by the psychopath who'd attacked her last fall.

Her father told her she could get them removed, had gone so far as to refer her to a colleague in his practice, but she'd convinced herself it was unnecessary and vain and something she should just accept.

But she wasn't quite there yet.

She met up with Steve behind his bike, bracing her hands on her knees and panting a bit when she stopped.

"Good workout?" he asked, draping his jacket over the handlebars.

"You could say that," she said between breaths. "I got kind of caught up."

"Looks like it," he agreed, lifting his hand to cup her cheek as he so often did.

She jerked out of reach. "Steve, I'm gross. You don't want to touch me right now."

"Shows what you know," he said, smiling. He gave her a soft kiss on the lips, picked up his jacket and put it on as climbed onto his bike. "I'll see you later."

"Dinner in my apartment at six tonight," she reminded him. "You promised to bring dessert."

"Wouldn't miss it." He smiled, turning over the engine and waving as he pulled away.

She waved at his back, watching as the garage door opened for him and closed after. She looked at the clock over the door and realized it was even later than she'd thought, grabbed her gear and headed upstairs.

Since she was behind schedule, Sharon skipped her cool down and went right up to her apartment to shower and then down to her office in the second floor "command center."

She had a lot to do before dinner tonight, planning to the unsuspecting Steve with a special meal and surprise to mark six months of officially being a couple. She didn't think he'd realized the significance of the date and it was one of the few times she purposely left a reminder off of his calendar.

Before she focused on her dinner plans, however, she had work to take care of first and that meant tackling the mundane Monday duties she considered the office management portion of her job. She returned calls that had held while she was gone for the reunion, ordered supplies, scheduled maintenance, reviewed invoices and paid bills and made a call to take care of Steve's unwanted magazine subscription.

According to the friendly customer service representative, this type of thing happened often and, rather than canceling the subscription altogether, Sharon was able to transfer it to a Martha Stewart magazine she figured Steve would enjoy more. When he'd been first adjusting to the twenty-first century, he'd watched a lot of Martha's show and had not only learned to cook but fold napkins, dry and use fresh herbs, make his own fabric softener and create a centerpiece out of everyday household items.

At eleven, she swiped one of Bucky's Pop-Tarts from the cupboard and ate it cold at her desk as she reviewed the surveillance projects she'd initiated. Most of them were long shots - monitoring old SHIELD accounts that had remained mysteriously open, watching former safe houses and keeping tabs on a dozen or so Hydra agents who'd been arrested in the chaos that followed the fall of the Triskelion - but any one of them could yield a fruitful lead if you knew what you were looking for.

And Sharon did.

Several of their team's missions had come from those long shots, which is what kept the tedious task of going through each line of data from becoming, well, tedious.

A few things stood out enough that she made note to follow up on them through contacts she'd maintained from her time as a SHIELD analyst and, in the case of the bank accounts, set up an alert on her phone if there was activity.

With a little luck, she might have new assignments for Bucky and Sam when they got back from Italy.

Once Sharon finished up her office tasks, she made up for lost time by filling the backseat of her car with groceries and other supplies.

Sharon made her last stop in front of the art store she'd learned about a few weeks ago near Dupont Circle. She looked at her watch, winced a bit at the time, and hoped the clerk she'd talked to last week had everything ready for her.

A quaint antique bell chimed as she pushed the door open and the smell of various mediums greeted her nostrils. She hadn't had a chance to check out the store in person before now and would have liked to look around but didn't have the time.

Instead, she headed straight to the counter and asked for the name of the woman she'd spoken to.

After a moment, a middle-aged woman with bright steaks of blue and pink in her pale hair and a name tag with "Meg" printed on it came toward the front of the store.

"You must be Sharon," she greeted. "I've got everything you wanted already boxed up right here. You said the set was a gift so I took the liberty of wrapping it at no extra charge."

"That's great, thank you," Sharon said, grateful that she had one less thing to do when she got back to HQ. She pulled her credit card out of her wallet and handed it to Meg, admiring the clean lines of the brightly colored wrapping paper.

As she ran card, Sharon glanced around the store and admired the bright colors and samples that adorned the walls as well as the mix of children's and professional art supplies. She would definitely make a point of coming back in when she didn't have to keep it a secret from Steve. If he liked his present tonight, she hoped they could come back together, maybe even taken one of the classes she saw advertised on the bulletin at the front of the store.

Taking note of the upcoming offerings, she felt her blood run cold at the sight of a familiar dark head of hair that moved past the front window.

"Sharon? Sharon are you alright?" Meg called out as Sharon bolted for the door, pushing it open and searching down the street for any sign of the man she thought she'd seen.

"Sharon?"

Sharon blinked, turning back to the clerk who'd followed her out. "I'm sorry. I thought I saw someone..."

"Not a good someone from the looks of it," Meg said, putting an arm around Sharon and guiding her back inside. "Are you okay? Do you want to sit? Or some water?"

"No, no. I'm fine," Sharon assured her, trying to reassure herself. "Thank you...for everything." She grabbed her credit card and receipt off the counter and picked up the picked up the wrapped gift. Tonight was a special night and she forced all thoughts of Brock Rumlow - the man who'd attacked and left her scarred - out of her mind as she headed for the car.