Chapter Text
“What are you still doing here?”
Sara stops abruptly and turns towards the doorway on her left. That uptight blonde who roughed up Ray is glaring at her from some sort of break room.
Sara gives her a fake smile and frantically gestures behind her back for the others to retreat. Ray, Nate and Mick seem to get the message, but she can’t risk the blonde coming out into the corridor and spotting them, so she saunters into the break room and improvises.
“Getting a coffee for the road. It’ll go nicely with my validated parking ticket.”
The blonde smirks. So it was her idea – what a bitch.
“Where’s the rest of your team?” she asks.
“They went ahead without me. They can find their own way home.”
“Really?” the blonde looks at Sara with exaggerated disbelief. “I think you’re overestimating them, Ms. Lance – the fact that Mr. Rory mistook a spring breaker for Julius Caesar is a pretty good indicator of just how capable your team really is.”
“Funny,” Sara deadpans and walks past her towards the state-of-the-art Italian coffee machine on the counter – Rip sure has come up in the world. Sara’s not about to admit that she has no idea how to operate the fancy machine, so she turns to the blonde and says, “Anything you can recommend, Agent…?”
“Sharpe,” she says and then adds with an indulgent smile, “Why don’t you stick to the classics? A latte maybe? I know from your mission records that anything overly sophisticated isn’t really your style.”
Sara blinks. Did she just call her an idiot in an incredibly roundabout way? Judging by her smug smile, she did.
Sara has already opened her mouth to really let her have it when she remembers the rest of her team. She needs to keep Sharpe occupied long enough for the boys to find a hiding place. And then, she’ll have to get her out of this break room somehow, so they can get past it and to the hangar holding the Waverider.
Sara snaps her mouth shut, grits her teeth and gestures towards the coffee machine. “A latte’s a great idea. If you would be so kind?” she says in her best syrupy-sweet voice.
Sharpe stands next to Sara and picks up one of the paper cups stacked on top of the machine to put it under the spout. She’s busy for a moment pressing a complicated sequence of buttons, and Sara uses the opportunity to take a closer look at her.
She’s not unattractive, objectively speaking. If you’re willing to overlook the giant stick up her ass, that is.
When the machine starts grinding coffee beans, Sharpe turns towards her, still wearing that smug smile. Sara decides it’s time to wipe it off her face.
She leans back against the counter and asks, “So, how long have you been with the Time Bureau, Agent Sharpe?”
Sharpe’s expression turns suspicious at the sudden small talk, but she replies, “Five years, next month.”
“Really?” Sara makes a show of widening her eyes and letting her mouth fall open in disbelief, mirroring the other woman’s expression from earlier.
Sharpe narrows her eyes at her.
“I just figured you were more of a rookie with how easy it was to disarm you,” Sara explains.
Sharpe clenches her jaw. “I was distracted.”
“Sure,” Sara says indulgently. “I mean, I’ve never worked a desk job, but I imagine that it would slow your reflexes. Filing reports all day can’t really prepare you for actually holding a gun – or doing anything else out in the real world, right?”
“I’m a very experienced field agent,” Sharpe says through gritted teeth.
Sara has trouble suppressing a grin – riling up Sharpe is fun. She makes sure to sound extra helpful when she says, “Huh, maybe the Time Bureau should consider including hand-to-hand combat in their training instead of just focusing on memorizing rules and handling fancy gadgets?”
Sharpe is seething now. “Our training is extremely comprehensive and covers a multitude of close combat techniques.”
It’s Sara’s “Oh, so you’re just not a very good agent then” that finally makes Sharpe snap.
“You know what? Make fun of me and the Bureau all you want. We’re only here because of your irresponsibility, cleaning up the mess that you and your team of idiots have made! And the way that we’re doing it? That’s called professionalism. I’m sure you wouldn’t know a professional operation if it bit you in the ass, but that doesn’t mean…”
Sara can’t really concentrate on what she’s saying, because, God, Sharpe is hot when she’s angry. It’s probably a good thing that Sara won’t get to see her again once they manage to steal back their ship from these time bureaucrats.
Sharpe suddenly stops talking, lifts up both hands, fingers spread wide, and takes a deep breath, obviously trying to rein in her temper.
She seems at least somewhat more composed when she grabs the latte-filled paper cup and shoves it at Sara. “Here you go, Ms. Lance. Have a safe trip home,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll look you up if I ever need a new bath mat.”
Sara takes in her flushed cheeks, flashing eyes – they’re a pretty gray-blue – and rapid breathing. Yes, seeing her again would definitely be a very bad idea. Especially, after what Sara’s about to do next.
She reaches for the offered cup and knocks it out of the agent’s hand with poorly feigned clumsiness. Coffee splatters all over Sharpe’s front, drenching her suit jacket.
Sharpe seems frozen for a moment before she slowly looks down at herself. When she looks back up at Sara, her expression is murderous. She raises her index finger and places it very, very close to Sara’s face. For a few moments, she simply stays in this position, grasping for words. Ultimately, she doesn’t say anything, though – Sara guesses she is simply too furious to speak. Instead, she turns on her heels and storms out of the break room, hopefully in the opposite direction of the boys’ hiding place.
Sara looks after her and cocks her head – that pantsuit may be polyblend, but Agent Sharpe sure is wearing it well.