Chapter Sixteen

Though it didn't happen often enough, Steve did enjoy waking up in Sharon's bed.

With his eyes closed, still entranced by the lingerings wisps of sleep, his remaining senses were full of Sharon - the feel of her silky hair on his bare arm, the lingering scent of her vanilla-strawberry shampoo as it clung to the sheets, the warmth of her pressed against his side, the sound of her gentle snores...

He opened his eyes and looked down to discover that it wasn't his blonde girlfriend laying next to him but a brunette with no sense of personal boundaries. He shifted, waking Rocky who immediately attacked him with sticky canine kisses.

The dog's hot breath and enthusiastic tongue as she slobbered over Steve was a poor substitute for Sharon's soft morning kisses but he'd woken up to worse.

Any day that didn't start with Dum Dum Dugan's sweaty wool socks inches from his face was a good one.

He indulged Rocky's demands for affection, rubbing her belly and asking the canine "who's a good girl?" in the same dopey voice he'd heard Bucky use with her.

Rocky only thumped her tail against the mattress with the attention, the fevered movement fanning a yellow sticky note that barely clung to the blanket.

Don't worry, I didn't run off to find Trent on my own. I couldn't sleep so I went down to do research.

Steve smiled, knowing that the thought had probably crossed her mind to leave him behind while she confronted the man they suspected of poisoning her aunt.

And the fact that she didn't made him love her even more.

They were both learning, both growing, in their relationship. And something Sharon was finally learning was that just because she could handle something herself, she didn't have to.

Just as he'd learned not too long ago that just because he could do something for Sharon, that didn't mean he should.

It had been a painful lesson, watching Sharon struggle through her recovery after Rumlow's attack, but he had to stop babying her so she could make herself strong again, physically and mentally. All he'd wanted to do was protect her from the world, from any hurt it could cause, and he'd come very close to doing more harm than good and driving her away.

He got out of bed, grabbing his jeans, and gave a still-demanding Rocky a scratch behind the ears before he padded down the hallway with her at his heels.

Steve noticed that coffee had already been made and drank, the empty carafe sitting on the counter next to the wine glass and bottle from the night before. He didn't necessarily need coffee the way Sharon and Sam did, not with his metabolism, but he enjoyed a comforting cup in the morning just as much as the next guy. He rinsed the carafe, filled the reservoir and reset Sharon's usual morning program, hoping she'd have another pot brewed downstairs.

He stopped by his apartment for a new shirt - not surprised to find that Hawkeye had already flown the coop - and wasn't disappointed when he reached the command center, the nutty smell of Sharon's favorite caffeinated flavor beckoning.

As he came quietly down the steps, he caught sight of Sharon at her desk and took a moment to admire the picture she made. He hair had been hastily pulled back, blond tendrils curling around her head as they escaped the careless ponytail. She was wearing the same tank and sweatpants she'd slept in and had pulled one of his flannel shirts from somewhere and wore it unbuttoned over her outfit.

Steve could think of a lot of things he'd rather do with his very attractive girlfriend if this were any other Saturday with Bucky and Sam out of town...but this wasn't any other Saturday.

He got his coffee, preferring to drink it as it came from the carafe, and carried it over to the desk. As he took his first sip, he saw that Sharon had been busy.

"How long have you been up?" he asked, studying the neatly labeled folders already lined up on the desk.

"A couple hours," she answered vaguely, not wanting to admit that she'd only managed an hour before a nightmare had made anymore sleep impossible.

He set his coffee aside, scanning the names on each of the dossiers she'd put together. Trent Atherton. Patricia Atherton. Patrick Atherton. Margaret "Peggy" Carter-Atherton.

He paused, surprised to see a file on Peggy, and then saw the last two files. Henry Carter and Angela Harris-Carter.

"Sharon..."

"I know," she said defensively, seeing that Steve was looking at the two most recent files she'd put away completed. "It seems paranoid. And, okay, it is paranoid, but I have to be thorough, Steve."

"But your own parents?"

Sharon sighed, picking up the folder with her mother's name on it. "As an agent, it was a given that everyone had secrets. When a mission came up, it was my job to assume the worst and look for the dirtiest, darkest corner of their lives and find what they hid there. It was an occupational hazard at times, assuming that everyone I worked with lied, but at least I could count on my family.

"But now..." she looked at Trent's folder. "Now I have to question even that."

He took the folder from her and set it down, drawing her into his arms.

She stood rigid in his embrace, not allowing herself to be comforted..

"You know my dad was married before my mom, right?" she asked, her voice distant. "That she was killed by a drunk driver? This morning I started wondering if Hydra had a hand in her accident - or, worse, that my dad did."

Steve's arms stiffened around her. "Sharon, you can't really think -"

"No, Steve. God, no. There's no way that my dad could ever do something so heinous and it makes me hate Trent and Hydra even more for putting those two seconds of doubt in my head about the best man I know."

Steve hugged her closer, her head tucked under his chin, until she finally relaxed. When he felt the tension in her posture give, he smiled into her hair and asked, "Best man you know?"

He felt her shoulder quiver as she tried to hold back a laugh - or a sob. Either way, an indelicate and adorable snort was the result which elicited a full laugh.

"Fine," she acquiesced. "Present company excluded. Are you happy?"

Steve gave her one more squeeze in answer, placing a light kiss on her temple, and released her so she could return to the folders.

"So," he asked, "What have you actually found?"

Sharon opened the Trent folder and spread its contents out for Steve to see.

"It's possible Trent learned everything Uncle Patrick had to teach him about construction and then some or he's been floating on Hydra dollars for at least the last twenty years. He inherited the family business when his dad passed, Aunt Peggy not wanting or needing any part of it. Despite two economic downturns in his time as CEO, the company has remained more than solvent - suspiciously more so than his competitors.

"I've taken to tracking some of the supposed contracts his company took during those leaner years. They seem legit so far, with purchase orders, equipment rentals, material invoices and even employee payroll to back up each job."

"Maybe your cousin's company has been Hydra's own private construction firm."

"Funny you should say that, because that's exactly the conclusion I've come to."

"Really?" Steve asked, surprised.

"Really," Sharon confirmed. "While tracking those contracts, I found that they coincide with some of the old SHIELD accounts I'd already been investigating - including the one Hawkeye is using. If those accounts were actually Hydra, and I'm sure most of them are, then that means Hydra has been Trent's main source of income for those two decades."

Steve looked thoughtful. "If those accounts were originally SHIELD accounts, maybe Trent didn't realize he was working for Hydra at first."

Before she could agree or counter, they were both distracted when Sharon's computer came alive with another security alarm.

"Foreign transmission detected. Garage level. Stall eight."

The disembodied voice repeated the message as it had before but, this time, added, "Tracking in process."

Sharon and Steve both watched as a map of DC appeared on screen and then zoomed out to encompass the tri-state area and then zoomed back in again on northern Maryland, between Hagerstown and Frederick.

"Is that where I think it is?" Steve asked, pointing his finger at the pulsing icon on the screen.

"If you think that's the Antietam National Battlefield, then yes," Sharon said, taking control of her computer from the security system. "According to this, Rumlow - or whoever's using the tracking beacon - is currently smack-dab in the middle of the national park."

Steve stood, his face lined with determination, and held a hand out to Sharon.

"Well, then," he said, taking her hand in his. "What are we waiting for?"