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Then.
Sharon remembered reading about Steve Rogers. He was a hero, an icon, he saved countless lives during the war, and when her Aunt Peggy spoke about him, she knew her aunt was talking about someone she admired.
He was that type of man.
They even had a whole exhibit dedicated to him. She remembered visiting when she was five and looking up at the tall image of the man with the strong jaw, tall nose, and blue eyes that she thought only existed in the princess and prince movies she loved to watch. The tour was normally lengthy, but her Aunt Peggy had connections, so she was able to skip out on everything that wasn't deemed appropriate for a child and instead, posed in a picture by Captain America's statue so she could bring it in for show and tell.
When she was older, she visited a few more times. Once was on a field trip, where she and a boy ducked out to lock lips behind the commemoration statue. It was a horrible thing to do, she knew that, but she had been a rebellious teen who was too busy to give Steve Rogers a second thought. They got caught, and she cursed that they should have made him taller so that they could have stayed hidden.
Then the last time she visited the exhibit, she was in her late twenties, and the news broke out about his revival. A fucking revival. How does that even happen? Naturally, the Smithsonian was swamped for the next few weeks, and Sharon waited until the crowd died down before she decided she even wanted to go.
She was curious. Her Aunt Peggy's memory wasn't all there anymore. She had a lot of questions about the legend of a man who became the first superhero back when heroes were a fleeting thought.
Sure, she could have reached out to Nick Fury, or she could have used her clearance at S.H.I.E.L.D., but Sharon didn't want to be one of those. S.H.I.E.L.D. was already in a frenzy, agents running amuck, excited and anxious, and Fury already had a lot to deal with.
So she wandered into the Smithsonian after hours, reading what she could, rifling through old films, and blinking at the image of the same man with the shield strapped onto his arm that decided to wake up from his ice nap. He hadn't aged a day. It was strange, something that she would probably laugh about if she were to hear it in passing. His awakening was very hard to believe.
It wasn't until after aliens decided to invade, and Fury's plan of banding Stark, Rogers and a few others together played out well, did Sharon actually get involved.
She thought she'd be enthused. Anyone would. But S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot to clean up after, and she waa originally assigned to lead a team to bring in the remaining alien technology from the city back to the base. She was particularly excited about that, but then Fury phoned and gave her a Class A mission. Top Secret. One that only he could trust her with.
If she thought it would end up hiding underneath Steve Rogers' bed then she probably would have smacked the case folder out of Fury's hands.
Protecting him was one thing. It was a long, tedious, undercover mission and Sharon requested for transfer the very next day as soon as she was assigned. Of course, that's when Fury decided that unless Rogers' safety was a concern, he wouldn't be answering any calls. It was an entirely different thing to play babysitter.
Damn, old, son of a bitch. She could just strangle him with the sleeves of his dark coat.
Why did Steve Rogers need protection anyway? He was Captain America. He fought in the battle of New York against an alien invasion. Hydra aside, extraterrestrial beings were all the rage these days. He was even featured in the news a few times giving an encouraging speech to assure people that the Avengers would keep them safe.
Inspiring, really. And it just proved that he was fine. Yes, he was strong, enhanced, and was able to make out a sentence or two. He could laugh, sprint, tear open a tank if he wanted to.. Why was she here again?
Sharon hadn't anticipated just how many enemies Steve Rogers had. While he was loved by many, he was also hated by many, and since he was completely oblivious to modern technology and still adjusting to the 21st century, there were plenty of times she caught assassins waiting in his apartment.
She almost groaned at the thought of reminiscing, but perhaps that was where she should start.
When S.H.I.E.L.D. moved him into Apartment 4, Sharon had already settled next door two weeks ahead of time. She had her cover ready, some nurse garbs, a welcome-to-the-building basket, and a rather dull attitude about it.
She wished she met him under different circumstances. He didn't know her, so it wasn't his fault she was so crabby. She just didn't want to be stuck looking after a man strong enough to burst through a concrete wall.
Steve was a kind, and he smiled when she welcomed him with her signature dimpled grins. He was tall, just like the statue, and he was handsome, but mostly Sharon noted that he was polite, if not a bit shy.
He didn't leave his apartment a lot, and for the first few weeks, her report consisted of a few short sentences and a little doodle for Fury to know just how irritated she was. She submitted that with a smirk. Then she ran into Steve surprisingly on her way down for her morning run. He asked her the best place he could get some privacy for his workout, and then he mumbled his apologies if she thought he didn't want to speak with her or want her company after asking.
It was strange. His words became jumbled, and then he was apologizing again, and then he was saying something about him not minding if they ran together.
If Sharon hadn't been so confused, she probably would have thought he was casually asking her for company, but then he jogged the other way, and she didn't see him for another few weeks.
She didn't seek him out. If she ran into him, she'd run into him, as long as he had ten fingers and ten toes, she was free to go about her day without interruptions.
The break ins started three months after the New York attack and when Steve was settling in with S.H.I.E.L.D. and taking on missions. Sharon just returned from visiting her aunt, and she was anxious to dig into her takeout bag when she heard rustling in the next unit.
She knew Steve was in another state with Rumlow's S.T.R.I.K.E. team, so she pressed her ear against the dry wall until she heard the sound of the floorboards creak. She burst into his unit a few seconds later, taking the door down with her. The two men who had broken in weren't with any prominent groups like Hydra, but they were breaking in anyway. She came, shot one of them in the knee and broke the other's nose. The job wasn't too messy. She broke his dining table in the process, and his front door had fallen off its hinges, but those were all easily fixed.
When he returned, he didn't notice anything. S.H.I.E.L.D. was good at that, so Sharon shrunk back into her apartment and went about her day.
The next time an assassin came unexpectedly into Steve's apartment, she was in the shower. Yes, he had good senses, she heard the soft tapping of footsteps, and in truth, she considered letting them be. Steve was in New York this time, and his life wasn't in any danger. But then she grumbled that this person could find sensitive information lying around that could put Steve in danger, so she wrapped a towel around to cover herself and burst through the door, drenched, and in a sour mood. The burly man didn't stand a chance, and neither did Steve's dresser. That also needed to be replaced by S.H.I.E.L.D.
Before the third incident, Steve caught her coming home late and had a few questions on how to work his new stereo. He looked disappointed in himself, and Sharon actually felt bad for the fellow, so she followed him in, and she looked around innocently as he gave her a tour.
He definitely didn't know what he was doing. Men who invited women into their homes usually had another motive. Usually. But because it was Steve, and he honestly looked so lost, she didn't mind. She showed him how to work the stereo and bluetooth, and he was so thankful.
She actually thought his smile was infectious.
It was too bad that she ended up breaking that same stereo on another man's head. Hence the third incident. She wasn't happy about that either. She was brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed when it happened. The pointy end of her toothbrush sank into the crook of the neck of the man just before she grabbed the nearest thing to her, which was the stereo, and smashed it over his head.
That one was messy. She had to roll him up using Steve's new area rug to haul him out. S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't get the extra body in for the cleanup, so Sharon ended with dragging the poor fellow down the stairs, hidden in the rolled up rug until she reached her car and hauled him in. It was awful. The old woman who was on her way to pick up her mail in the lobby gave her a worried look and muttered something about how delivery fees weren't too expensive, and that she should be smarter about considering it next time.
Great. Now people in the building thought she was cheap.
Replacing the rug and stereo was a pain without S.H.I.E.L.D.'s assistance, and she was glad that whoever was assigned to furnish Steve's apartment chose a store that mass produced their furniture. She found the same rug, dragged it up the stairs, made sure to fray the corners, because that's how his old rug looked, and tried to mimic an old stain. The stereo was easier, she was thankful for that, and she placed it by the old spot on top of a sideboard in the living room. She even watered his plants.
After that, he sunk back on his couch, exhausted, until she received a text that Steve was fifteen minutes away. Sharon dragged her feet back to her apartment and fell asleep until S.H.I.E.L.D. called to say they were coming around to pick up the body. She wasn't pleased. It was two thirty in the morning, and she had to give them access to her car trunk out in the back.
What made things worse was that she ran into Steve in her pajamas in the hallway. He was just coming in and was unlocking the door to his apartment. He turned and hid a smile, and Sharon tried, she really did, to smile back, but her upper lip curled, and she was sure she snarled. His eyes widened, and he ducked into his apartment.
The next day, he knocked on her door, and it was far too early for him to apologize that he disturbed her the previous night. Sharon was still in the awful pajamas, and this time her hair looked like a drowned rat. She barely had a few hours of sleep in. He looked even more apologetic, and he scampered away at her glare.
A week went by, and Sharon decided that just because she was still sore from the fight in his apartment and that she had to replace his furniture, it didn't mean she needed to be an ass. He didn't know, and he was lonely enough.
She stalked to her front door and threw it open, a pie ready made the night before, because she read it was his favorite, when her foot toppled over the cup of coffee that was sitting on the floor just on the other side of her door lip. The pie tipped over.
"What the fuck?" She clamped a hand over her eyes.
Steve's door opened a second later, he poked his head out. He took in her drenched foot, scrunched face, and the pie that had fallen flat on the floor.
"Are you alright, Kate?"
She held a hand out. "I'm fine. Just fine," she sang. She grumbled, shaking her foot. "Someone left their coffee outside my door, and I knocked it over."
Steve made a sort of noise, like a choking sound, and then his face turned red. Sharon blinked her eyes, and she looked over at the spilled cup and then back to his pink face.
"Oh," she mumbled. "This is from you?"
He nodded, and he looked embarrassed a hundred times over. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I thought that..last week, I woke you up so early, and--" He paused, straightening himself. "I should have asked first."
He had a kind heart and his boyish charm was entertaining. If she hadn't been standing there covered in pie with her foot burning and wet, she probably would still think so.
"It's alright," she said, not knowing what else to say.
He offered to help her, but she shooed him away and hopped on one leg back into her apartment.
S.H.I.E.L.D. became a thorn on her side after that when they advised her they wouldn't be able to support her with physical bodies to do cleanup after the rug incident, and that only made her more grumpy.
One particular time as she was mopping his damned floors after a very rough hand to hand combat, she accidentally knocked over.. what ever it was that was sitting on his display unit. Some sort of figure.
"Shit!"
She scrambled, and the arm of the golden man had broken clean off. What was this thing anyway? God.. "Please, please be replaceable." She turned it over and read the tiny markings. "Made in 2001, yes, thank you!"
She couldn't find the damn thing on eBay, but thankfully she had some super glue. That worked well, and after a good polish, the figure was back on his display and it looked brand new.
So where was she? Those were only some the incidents that ultimately led to the story of how she ended up under his bed. Yes, under the bed, not on top, not veered off to the side or hunched over it, under it.
Steve wasn't gone long. He had a day mission out, so Sharon didn't think it would be one of those days where she'd find an assassin slipping quietly into his apartment.
She roared and tackled him down, and they struggled. It was difficult to fight without causing damage. She didn't have long until Steve returned, and there wouldn't be time to replace anything.
Unfortunately, the shit of a man that she currently had in a headlock broke free, and Sharon had no choice but to grab the nearest thing next to her to smash deep in the back of his throat.
The man fell with a thud, and Sharon made quick work to drag him out of the door and into her apartment. She scampered back with a dishrag and some soap and made fast work of getting the blood off the hardwood. It wasn't too bad, she kept the pencil lodged in the man's throat to prevent the blood from gushing out. The only thing was..
Shit.
She glanced over at his desk where his sketchbook sat and where she took his pencil as a weapon. Darting back to her apartment, she searched around for a replacement. She had one somewhere.
"Please don't be some kind of vintage pencil.." she grumbled.
Steve received a few personal things after he woke up from the ice, and items he owned that probably cost him a few pennies in the 40's were selling on eBay for thousands of dollars. Gods, she hoped this pencil wasn't considered vintage, especially since the one she replaced it with was an old thing she used to prop up her dying plant.
Sharon just placed the pencil down on his desk and was thinking she would take a good look at the brand to replace it the next day, when she heard the jingle of keys.
Her eyes widened, and she mumbled a silent, "Shit!"
She lept, trying to find a place to hide. He had good ears, so swinging open the window would probably alert him. She scrambled, her head darting from side to side. The lock clicked and the door knob turned.
And that was how she found herself underneath Steve Rogers' bed, hiding with her front firmly pressed against the hardwood, and hoping to hell he couldn't hear her ragged breathing.
Steve was wandering around in the living room for a while until he entered his bedroom, dropping his bag on the floor next to the bed. Sharon inched away, and he headed for the bathroom. The sound of running water from the shower came on a few minutes later.
Sharon cringed. If there was any other time to escape, now would be the opportunity, but how would she make it out without being heard? Perhaps if she hurried through the front door, and if Steve heard, she could play it off that she was simply knocking to borrow something and that would be the noise he heard. That was believable, right?--If she made it on the other side of the door.
She crawled to the opposite end and away from the open door of the bathroom. Steam was floating in his bedroom, and Sharon shut her eyes. Damn it. Did he need to smell so good?
She had just taken her first step when the shower turned off. Her eyes grew, and she fell to the floor again and rolled back under the bed slowly.
Did he just take a three minute shower? While he was a soldier, he was in the comfort of his own home. Couldn't he spend at least ten minutes in there?
She saw Steve's bare feet walking around, and then his towel dropped to the floor. Her mouth fell open, but thankfully he was near the bed, and she could only see part of his calves.
She shut her eyes, cursing Fury, cursing S.H.I.E.L.D., cursing Steve Rogers, and everything else that led her here.
Steve was getting dressed now, and she breathed a sigh of relief when his underwear and pants came on next. The bed dipped, and the lights were turned off.
Sharon waited. He was awfully silent, but that just meant he was awake and that his ears were probably alert. She waited. She swore she must have dozed off, because when her eyes fluttered open, she heard Steve's heavy breathing.
She remained glued to her spot. What were the chances she could make it to his door without him waking up? If he found her, she wouldn't have an excuse. Her cover would be blown, Fury wouldn't be pleased, that asshole, and Steve wouldn't be very happy with her.
Then again, if it were all over, she could go back to her life and stop pretending. The idea was sounding more appealing by the minute.
Sharon sighed and folded her arms to rest her head on. Steve woke up early to go for his morning run, so she just needed to spend a few more hours underneath his dusty bed frame, and she could make her escape when he was gone.
She wasn't wrong. Steve was up at the crack of dawn, and she heard him in the bathroom brushing his teeth. She rubbed her eyes and held in a sneeze. God, her back hurt. Steve was quick in the morning. He didn't even make any coffee, and the minute his front door closed, Sharon wriggled herself from underneath the bed.
She stretched. "Son of a.."
She didn't bother to hurry, she was tired, cranky, and extremely sleepy. She fumbled with the keys at her front door.
"Kate?"
Sharon groaned. He was back? She glanced over her shoulder. He had two coffees in his hands. A smile tugged at the end of her lips.
"Hi." It was all she could manage. Shouldn't he be out at National Mall running laps? And how did he get those coffees so fast?
He beamed. "Good morning," he said. "Looks like you had a rough night."
She raised an eyebrow and followed his eyes, looking down at her outfit. She was covered in dust. Fantastic. She pressed her lips together and nodded her head.
"You could say that," she said.
He took a step forward and the coffee was extended her way. He wasn't too close, wasn't too far away. Actually, she assumed he was being careful with making sure it didn't spill over.
"I thought you could use one. That other time.. It was an accident. I shouldn't have left it by your door," he said.
Sharon eyed the cup in his hand, and she took it from him. "Thank you." She wasn't really sure what to say. Most women would probably invite the person who just went out of their way to bring a gift over into their home, but Sharon just wanted to crawl into bed and take a shower.
She fidgeted uncomfortably.
Steve was still smiling. "You're welcome," he said. "I, uh, should leave you to it then. You look like you need some rest."
Sharon sighed, relieved, and she glanced behind her shoulder as he was heading back into his apartment. "Steve," she started, and he turned to give her another shy smile. "Really, thank you. This means a lot. I had a bad night."
He nodded. "Any time."
Now.
"Sending you the footage you requested, Captain."
Steve slumped back into his couch, and muttered a quick, "Thank you," in the receiver of his cellphone.
He drummed his fingers on top of his knee, waiting until his laptop flashed with a new message and the zipped file attachment.
He sighed to himself.
When Triskelion fell and he narrowly dodged death, he spent weeks in the hospital contemplating his next move, what to do, where to start in his search for Bucky, and finding people he could actually trust.
Natasha Romanov was a mystery. It was always difficult to tell whose side she was playing, but the file she provided him was a good start at rebuilding the trust he had with anyone who worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. He expected that there was still a lot he didn't know, but there was an opportunity to learn, and he was willing to take those steps.
Sam Wilson was a good man too, someone who stuck by him, provided him with a place to stay until he could get a new apartment of his own. He also offered his assistance should Steve need the extra hand to locate the Winter Soldier. It was more than Steve could ask for, because it wouldn't be an easy task.
Now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was rebuilding, he was able to retrieve some of his belongings from his old apartment. He was also able to get more information from Fury on the reason why he had a field agent spying on him the last two years.
Natasha knew her well, he could tell. She mentioned that her name was Sharon. That was another thorn on his side. This Sharon had betrayed him. He knew her as Kate, the lovely nurse who gave him sweet smiles that made his stomach feel funny. She was clumsy, sometimes grumpy, but she had always been kind to him.
Natasha insisted he phone her. For what, he wasn't certain. He supposed it was because Natasha was observant, and that she knew Sharon was the only woman who caught his interest since waking up to the new world.
His interest.
And she lied to him.
He didn't call her. He couldn't. There weren't a lot of people he could trust, and with his search for Bucky at the top of his list, he needed honest people in his circle.
His attention swiveled back to the attachment on his laptop, and he extracted a few files. Fury had them sent over, hoping to clear the air between them. He didn't know what was worse. The fact that he sent Sharon to pretend to be his neighbor, him genuinely feeling something for her, or the fact that he just found out his old apartment had hidden cameras that Fury set-up in secret.
Steve rubbed his temples as he filtered through a series of videos. Who watched these anyway? If he remembered, there were a few times where he wandered around his apartment with minimal clothing. He cringed to himself. Yes, trust was a big thing for him. That, and privacy.
He scrolled through numerous videos until one caught his eye. He tapped on it with the cursor, and sat wide eyed as Sharon came into view tackling a man that was rifling through his things.
Then there was another, and she was rolling a dead body using his rug, and then more of her replacing his furniture and cursing. He wasn't sure what to make of it until she smacked her knee against the leg of his desk and let out a string of profanities.
He laughed at that one.
There were more, and he went through them all, his chin resting on his palm. Was she.. watering his plants? He hid a smile at that. So that's how that orchid survived. He always thought it was odd, given he wasn't good with plants, and he didn't know how to take care of it. He killed it one time with too much water if he remembered correctly.
He forwarded through a few more videos, and his cheek dimpled. She had just knocked a man unconscious and spotted his dead plant. She came back to clean up the mess, and she had a new plant in her hands and replaced it with a huff. Steve raised his eyebrows. Ah.
He fiddled with his cellphone. Natasha had provided him with Sharon's number a while back, and while he never meant to call, he still kept it in his contacts. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad thing to call her..
The next video played, and he was just in the middle of dialing. He stopped, and his mouth fell open.
She was rolling herself underneath his bed, and he was.. in the room. He watched, fascinated, and a little embarrassed as he watched himself stroll out the bathroom after his shower. Then he dropped his towel, and Steve froze.
Had she.. seen?
He felt his ears grow warm, and he clamped a hand over his eyes.
She stayed the entire night tucked away under the small bed while he slept all to ensure he didn't come back to an ambush. He wasn't sure if it was insulting or sweet. She was only doing her job after all.
But taking care of other things in his apartment, replacing the plant, and the pencil.. So that's why his sketching pencil disappeared. He always wondered how a standard Ticonderoga no.2 managed to worm its way into his pile of sketch pencils.
Steve sighed, tapping his fingers on his knee again. Sharon looked exhausted, and by the time she was finished with the cleanup, her shoulders were slumped, and she was dragging her feet out his door.
He didn't know why that made him smile. But it did explain why she was always cranky whenever he saw her, and for some reason, knowing was all he needed.
The next day, and with Natasha's intel, he was able to locate Sharon's new apartment. He probably should have called before he arrived. It was appropriate to do so, but he didn't know what to say, and as he stood in front of her door, he racked his brain, because he still didn't know what to say.
He must have been out there for a while, because then the door opened, and Sharon ran right into him. He tried to maneuver out of the way but..
"What the fuck?"
Steve gaped. He must have squeezed the two coffees he had in his hands a little too tightly when she surprised him, and the lids popped off, and..
Now she was drenched in coffee.
Sharon's mouth fell open, and they stared at each other for a good few seconds.
"I don't think this coffee thing is working out," she finally said, lightly laughing.
He gave her an apologetic smile. "Maybe.. something else for next time?"
She was eyeing him, a twinkle in her eye. "You like cheeseburgers?"