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Sharon’s feet ached, she could feel multiple blisters forming on her soles. She despised wearing heels. How Aunt Peggy had worn them every day to work- fought in them too- was beyond her. Sure, Sharon could fight in heels, but it was just more convenient to just take them off and fight barefoot. Most days she wore her favorite pair of combat boots. Yelena liked to poke fun that she didn’t own any other shoes. But her boots were custom made for her in Madripoor, with comfy insoles, good for every situation. Unlike the shoes she was currently wearing.
Her strappy stilettos loudly clicked against the marble flooring. She gathered her black cocktail dress in one hand as she stalked down the empty hallways. The music from downstairs grew fainter the deeper into the club she went. She combed through the rooms, planting listening devices all over. What Valentina planned to pick up on these, she had no clue, but it wasn’t her call. She hadn’t encountered any guards, thanks to a timely distraction downstairs from John and Yelena, and Justin worked his magic in altering the camera feeds. No one was going to bother her up here.
She methodically planted every bug where they wouldn’t be found. She only had a few left, and then she could get out of here. As soon as she opened the door back into the hall, there were footsteps. She killed the lights and peeked out the crack in the doorway. Her hand wrapped around the .45 strapped to her thigh. The footsteps grew closer. Sharon rested against the wall, hoping they would just leave without investigating. The steps came to a stop right outside the door. She kicked the door open, aiming her gun at the assailant. When she saw who it was, she lowered the gun and huffed in annoyance.
“What the hell are you doing here, Zemo?” she asked.
Zemo didn’t even look fazed by her outburst. He simply smoothed down his tux jacket with one hand. It was all jet black with a matching tie, and black leather gloves. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the sight. Was there ever a time that this man didn’t look like a villain from a Bond movie? He took a sip from his champagne glass.
“You were taking too long. I thought you were in need of assistance,” he said.
“I’m almost done,” she objected. She lifted her dress up past her thighs to tuck her gun into its holster. Zemo quickly looked away. Oh please, she thought. As if she didn’t catch him staring at her literally all the time. She dropped her dress so the fabric covered her legs.
“And for future reference, I don’t need your assistance, ever,” she hissed.
He chuckled. “The three men I dispatched- who were on their way up here to kill you- prove otherwise.”
“I could have handled them,” she said. She huffed again and strode past him. Zemo caught her arm, a little too forcefully. He spun her around so she was facing him again. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“But I handled them for you,” he said, “you don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders, Sharon. That’s what we have a team for.”
She scoffed. “Really? You, of all people, preaching about teamwork? Let’s not pretend we both don’t know what you’re planning when this is all over.”
They’ve had more than one discussion about it. His plans, her plans, what would happen to Ross when this ‘team’ came to an end- something ugly, she hoped. Truthfully, they could plan all they wanted, but Ross had both their balls on his leash. All they could do now was follow orders, anything past that was wistful thinking. Zemo opened his mouth to object, when another noise came from the end of the hall. Shit.
Sharon ripped her arm from his grasp, grabbed his shoulders, and shoved them both into the room behind them. She slammed him into the wall next to the door, a small thump echoing out. He gently sat his glass down on the table next to them, the champagne had already spilled out. Zemo tried to speak again. She pressed her hand against his mouth, holding it there, and shushed him. Her other hand curled into his tux.
The door at the end of the hall opened. The footsteps were heavy, at least three men. She craned her head towards the door, trying to listen in. Light from the hallway poured in. The steps grew closer. Zemo’s breath was hot on her hand. From the corner of her eye, she could see him reach into his jacket to grab his own .45 that was tucked away. The men came to a stop right in front of the door. She locked eyes with Zemo and he readied his weapon- they’ve done this before.
Another minute passed, and they stayed glued to the wall. Her hand still covered his mouth. His beard was softer than she thought, not that she’s thought about it before- definitely not. And she definitely wasn’t thinking about the black tux he was wearing. Even though, it looked really good on him, despite the dramatics. And it’s only now that she realized that Zemo’s arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her flush to his chest.
Finally, the footsteps outside moved again, and one of the men laughed. They began speaking in Japanese, something that roughly translated to- did you see that hot bartender downstairs? Sharon and Zemo both huffed a sigh of relief. It was just a couple of drunks. The sound of something shattering quickly followed- the bottle of whatever they were drinking. Footsteps promptly exited, slamming the door behind them.
“They’re gone,” she said.
Sharon moved her hand from his mouth, bringing it to stop on his chest. Zemo holstered his weapon. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and she’s not quite sure it was from the threat of being caught. She waited for Zemo to fill the silence, but he didn't. His gaze locked on hers, holding it there. The light from the hallway illuminated his face. Not breaking eye contact, she reached up to brush her fingers against his cheek. It was still red from the pressure of her hand earlier. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close.
They stayed like that for a minute, before his gaze flitted to her lips. But he didn’t make a move further, knowing a miscalculation could get him shot. Sharon cradled his face and thought about closing this distance. But she couldn’t stop the circus of thoughts running through her head. What if it ruined their partnership? Or worse… What if she liked kissing him? What if she wanted more than that? That’s what disturbed her the most.
“We should…”
She moved her fingers from his face and he got the memo. He removed his arms and she found herself wishing that he didn’t. He cleared his throat.
“Right. Of course,” he said.
Sharon could hear the twinge of disappointment in his voice. But they still had something to accomplish tonight. One day though, they would get this thing right. It just wouldn’t be tonight...