Hello faithful readers! After a summer hiatus, one surgery, one car accident, two trips to the hospital, and almost three months of writing, here I am, posting the final chapter.
This is really the first multi-chapter fic I've ever finished (the rest of my failed attempts are scattered on various hard drives), so, seriously thanks for sticking with it. Be sure to let me know what you think.
Sharon Fitz collected her luggage from the carousel in Edinburgh and found a cab. The driver put her large bag in the boot, but she placed the carry-on next to her. It had been harder than she expected to carry that bag discreetly. Who knew urns could be so heavy? But maybe it's good to give a bit of a show. Let people see me struggling to bring my son's ashes along.
She tipped the cabbie extra and he helped her get both bags indoors.
It was strange to see her same old flat, nothing out of place. It was a relief to be home, but with her life turned upside down, how could these rooms be unchanged?
Almost unchanged. Sharon unzipped her carry-on bag and lifted out the heavy vase. The flat didn't have a mantel, and the coffee table seemed too absurd, so she settled for the top of a bookshelf. She had to take down Leo's college diploma to make room, though, and that almost made her cry.
She tried to tell herself, You knew he wasn't coming home with you. This is no different. But it was different. Living far away and not visiting often was different than being dead. From now on, she wouldn't be the mother of a brilliant scientist, but the mother of a dead suspected terrorist. And her son wouldn't be a genius respected in several fields, but rather a ghost that lingered in people's minds and prayers for a time, then faded away.
What next? Oh yes, the bugs. In her last conversation with Leo, he had been anxiously trying to tell her something but floundering for the words. "When you're home sweep…sweep the…sweep…listening things?" he'd stomped his foot in frustration.
Sharon knew him well enough to guess, "Microphones?"
"Yes? Bad microphones. Microphones from Hydra."
"You mean sweep for bugs?"
"Yes." He'd buried his face in his hands out of frustration, and she'd patted his back reassuringly.
"Maybe you could help me figure out how to do that?" she'd suggested, and he had.
Now, she got out several nondescript electronic devices that S.H.I.E.L.D. had loaned her and began disassembling them. Triplett had offered to have the assembly instructions for an RF detector encoded and sent to her, but she'd committed them to memory instead. "Two may keep a secret if one of them is dead," she'd reminded him.
Once she'd swept all of the electronic devices in all four rooms and removed all of the switch plates to be certain, she disassembled the device and turned it back into items that no one would suspect. She wondered if anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. would've guessed how easy that was for her. Leo came to it honestly. I may not be a genius but I've never paid a repairman.
Convinced that no one was listening, she risked a brief call on the secure line Skye had set up. It went to answer phone—no surprise, it was a huge time difference. "Hello darling, I'm safely home. Give my regards to Director Coulson and Jemma and Agent Triplett. Talk more soon. Mama loves you."
After fixing herself a small supper and unpacking her things, after forcing herself to make the painful calls to her boss, her friend Julia, her aunt, and Leo's best friend from primary school, after enduring the tearful condolences from all parties, she sat down with a cup of tea, her sewing box, and several of her most serviceable brassieres.
What is wrong with Director Coulson, suggesting I keep a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. radio in my pocket? She wondered for the hundredth time as she began sewing a small square of fabric into the band of her favorite piece. It's disguised as an American coin. It'd be the first thing Hydra suspected. Goodness, it's just a good job that they've got someone sensible like me to think things through for them.
Working with the needle and thread, Sharon forced herself to smile for the first time since she left the Playground. Accept the facts, she insisted, You're going to live a charade for a while. Your son is going to be in pain and living in the shadows, maybe for the rest of his life. That can't be changed. It can't be helped.
So, reframe and give yourself reasons to hope, she told herself. Is it really as bad as all that? Leo's going to live. I'm going to live. S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to live and fight another day. Yes, life was going to be harder now that she had to look over her shoulder. And it wouldn't be pleasant pretending her son was dead and buried, knowing that he was alive and struggling. But he was a genius, and he was still her precious little boy, and he'd fight Hydra till the end. Their end, not his.
Now, carry on. Knotting off the last stitch, she cut the thread and tucked the coin-radio into the makeshift secret pocket. Glancing to see if the drapes were closed, she removed her shirt and bra and slipped into the modified one. Success! She could feel the shape of the nickel pressed against her, but a peek at the mirror let her know that it would be undetectable to the naked eye. Much safer than the pocket of my slacks. And harder to leave behind one day by mistake, too!
She re-threaded the needle for the next piece of lingerie. In the morning she'd have to summon her strength and call Leo's father. There was a memorial service to organize. On Monday she'd have to get herself to work and guide others through crises. Leo would have months, if not years, of therapy and hard work ahead of him.
But for tonight, Leo was off saving the world—where he belongs—and she was home—where I belong.
She could live with that.