#sh1elded

[thirtean]

mrs. rogers, ma'am

" yessir? you need something, mr. carter ? "

[mknbrd]

❝ Don’t let love cloud your judgment. ❞

there is blood under her fingernails, covering her hands, staining her suit; an aim informant dead at her feet; a glare on her face. the anger that wells up in her chest, the kind that she didn't think could get any worse, swelling up and choking her. the burning urge to throw him through a window — she could do it, too — that replaces the fear that's been gripping her throat for the last twenty four hours, but only for a moment. clint is missing, clint is missing— it's the only thought running through her head.

" don't look at me and tell me you wouldn't do the same if it were sharon, " she says lowly.

and it's not really the same— she's not with clint. but clint is her guy. he's her person. her great epic love, at one point. maybe he still is. so it's similar, at least. and she's nothing if not capable of being both incredibly angry and incredibly effective at the same time. she's been doing it her entire life. angry keeps her alive. it keeps clint alive, too.

" rogers, i will... burn down that entire island to get him back, if that's what it takes. " bobbi drags a breath in through her nose, lets that breath out through her mouth. she's gotten used to feeling out of place working with the avengers. she's not a superhero. she hates having to try and maintain that image. she's just a super soldier spy with a phd, looking for her ex-husband. " that's not clouded judgment, that's just how it is. "

[thirtean]

❛ i can’t bring you with me this time. ❜

" you trying to tell that to your wife, or to the person who wrote up the mission brief ? " she's not sure if it'll make her more likely to acquiesce, but it might, depending on the answer. she understands the concern, she really does — madripoor hadn't exactly been kind to her the last time she'd gone in there, and steve's nothing if not protective. but madripoor is her baby. she knows it better than anyone.

and to send a team in on a job, and for that team not to include her... no good spy would think that was a good idea. sharon sets her jaw back a bit, hoists her duffel bag higher up on her shoulder. " because as your wife, i understand your concerns, and i love you. as your supervisor, i wasn't asking, and i can handle myself. "

[wid0wd-archived]

city lights split in tiny little rainbows from afar, kaleidoscopes in the night supposedly turning pretty something long rotten underneath ( and all around too, to be completely honest ). "there he is," an extensive list of crimes under his belt, the target in question suddenly deciding to dabble into some more extreme activities. and to think this stuff only used to happen in movies. light tap on earpiece to keep it tucked behind knitted beany, one last quip before timer kicks off.

"this guy's obviously an idiot for turning the warehouse into a saw trap, but we've got to stay sharp exactly because of that too." how the hell are people even finding this entertaining? society is in shambles ... the internet too ( nevermind you're starting to sound like an old annoying grandma )

"high demand allows for more fucked up things, so ..." you're not saying it lightly, half a mind already made that you'll either find a sleepless rest of the night once it's over, or it'll bring the sort of anger you know will be judged frowned upon. broken things allow for light to get in - yet from outside the warehouse appears completely abandoned; a sign of a perfectly working machine. "well then, shall we play a game?"

@sh1elded , shenanigans.

[thirtean]

❛ you’re lucky you got away with only a scratch. ❜

" don't forget the free haircut. " which— that won't be free to get fixed, but that's besides the point. he's not wrong. coming out of a skirmish with a guy who grows knives out of his hands with nothing more than a couple of bruises, six stitches in her arm and the long bob that she'd hastily cleaned up in the bathroom... lucky.

lucky, lucky, lucky— she's fine. she'll be sore as all hell tomorrow, but she's fine. steve looks more shaken up than she feels— hands on the hips, jaw tight, lost in the sea of what ifs. sharon nods, gestures for him to shut the door to her office with a little wave of her hand. and then she opens her arms, waits until he's crossed the room and has her wrapped up with his nose in her hair. " i'm here, rogers. i'm fine. come back to me. "

[wid0wd-archived]

“ sharon is half my soul, as the poets say. “

you found him lost in a world he didn't belong to anymore, to know he's found a way to stay grounded despite it all can only make you feel relieved. it's what you wish for all your friends, for each of them to find that one thing that will make life worth when duty is not enough to push through. "isn't timing the funniest thing in the world?" it isn't that fun, but the irony is not lost on you - sensible enough to shut up when talking is not necessary ... though you did mention the neighbour could have been a good catch; does it count as a win? maybe an i told you so? "i'm happy for you both," found each other through time and space, must be nice.

your search is a dead end, but there's no reason to trouble such a nice moment - half of your soul secretly wandering somewhere in the world, just got to be patient a little longer. "hope you didn't come here to ask me to be your best man," hint of amusement in tone, curiosity clear in gaze. "because in that case i'd have to remind you that you already have one," again, waiting somewhere albeit proving difficult to find at times. a pause, soft smile in lips. "and if you intend to play matchmaker then i regret to inform you that i'm already spoken for." ... technically, but still. "so which one it is?"

[wid0wd-archived]

you're not a spring chicken anymore.

there's a beat of silence, gaze drops into glass as features stays blank. spring chicken ... seriously? finally head lifets up, brow quirked curiously. "are you calling me old?" tone even if not for the barely audible hint of amusement. "i'll let you know, i'm only twenty nine." ... yeah, maybe in the 40s. glass is brought to lips casually, attention moving to the other guests to gauge how words have been received - there's a pretty high chance the joke has flown over their heads. "this better not be your way to initiate a conversation about retirement," definitely the wrong person to talk about it with if that's the case. "i'm afraid i'll be the one to switch the light off in this place."

[thirtean]

❛ you okay? caught you staring off into space again. ❜

is she okay? she feels unraveled. she feels exhausted. she feels annoyed. she feels like the shield psychologist that she's spent the last few hours with has taken the insides of her brain and unspooled them into a million little pieces.

and the problem with that is that she hadn't even really given them what they wanted. sharon's not in the habit of spilling her innermost thoughts to people who write them down in notebooks, let alone when she's sat in a room with steve behind a two way mirror and asked to recount every single bad thing that happened to her in madripoor. they wanted more, but it's not enough, but also if she gives any more, it might kill herself. or steve. or both of them.

so she's not sure if she's okay. she knows she oscillates between angry, exhausted and disassociating more. she knows steve's worried about her. she knows she's a bit of a mess, and that she's not the same as she used to be, and they're all just trying to figure out what that means. " yeah, " sharon says anyways, tucking her legs up towards herself, pushing her toes into the dashboard of the car. " i'm sorry, baby, what were you saying ? "