![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[AU] the mission is all that counts
Sep. 14th, 2021 11:14 amIt's been weeks now since she left the sun-drenched fields of Wakanda, since she'd stood by the lake and said her temporary goodbyes, since she'd waved out the window of the borrowed Quinjet and tried to keep Bucky in her line of sight for as long as possible, and it's beginning to feel a little too much like that was all the dream, and Madripoor is the reality.
It's a miserable city, and she's miserable in it. She's had more than one close call, working her way into Selby's inner circle, and she's had to do things she thought she'd never have to do again. She barely sleeps, cat-napping through the day the way Bucky used to in the old Winter Soldier days. It leaves her just rested enough to be able to react quickly, to stay on her toes, to think, but not enough to ever drive away the persistent exhaustion dogging at her heels, and Madripoor's nocturnal existence is a constant drain on her internal clock.
She's lost weight. Everything about her is sharper, now, when she looks in a mirror: the angles of her face and collarbone, the sleek ponytail she draws her hair into, the clothes she wears. In a reversal of what she'd done so long ago, she sprays her own pillow with the honeysuckle and clover perfume that now reminds her of Wakanda and home. She can't wear much of it during her working hours, but the scent clings softly to her skin and hair and reminds her, whenever she catches it, of who she really is.
Of everything she'll go back to. And then she remembers why she's here to begin with, and manages to set her jaw and her shoulders to face another of Madripoor's long, terrible nights.
She leaves her reports in a dead drop for Fury, rotating locations each week, just in case. Ever since he'd told her his plan, to deepen her cover by staging the 'death' of Sharon Carter, she's been radio silent... but she's getting there. She's getting so close. And soon, soon, she'll be back, grasping her hard-won prize, and she'll get to see the look on Bucky's face when she tells him they can go home.
She knows she's close, because only a few days ago she'd learned just what, exactly, the Power Broker offers. It breaks her whole mission wide open, is enough to take out the weapons ring and the Power Broker organization all in one fell swoop... if she can just get the proof, get it to Nick.
And get the hell out of here.
Here, tonight, is the Bronze Monkey, the bar Selby owns purely for the back rooms in which she holds court each night. Sharon, a hood tugged over her bright hair, drifts in the crowd, keeping a sharp eye on the newcomers, the regulars; the people who are drinking too much and the people who aren't drinking enough.
It's quiet, so far. But she's learned that one thing she can't trust in Madripoor is a quiet night.
It's a miserable city, and she's miserable in it. She's had more than one close call, working her way into Selby's inner circle, and she's had to do things she thought she'd never have to do again. She barely sleeps, cat-napping through the day the way Bucky used to in the old Winter Soldier days. It leaves her just rested enough to be able to react quickly, to stay on her toes, to think, but not enough to ever drive away the persistent exhaustion dogging at her heels, and Madripoor's nocturnal existence is a constant drain on her internal clock.
She's lost weight. Everything about her is sharper, now, when she looks in a mirror: the angles of her face and collarbone, the sleek ponytail she draws her hair into, the clothes she wears. In a reversal of what she'd done so long ago, she sprays her own pillow with the honeysuckle and clover perfume that now reminds her of Wakanda and home. She can't wear much of it during her working hours, but the scent clings softly to her skin and hair and reminds her, whenever she catches it, of who she really is.
Of everything she'll go back to. And then she remembers why she's here to begin with, and manages to set her jaw and her shoulders to face another of Madripoor's long, terrible nights.
She leaves her reports in a dead drop for Fury, rotating locations each week, just in case. Ever since he'd told her his plan, to deepen her cover by staging the 'death' of Sharon Carter, she's been radio silent... but she's getting there. She's getting so close. And soon, soon, she'll be back, grasping her hard-won prize, and she'll get to see the look on Bucky's face when she tells him they can go home.
She knows she's close, because only a few days ago she'd learned just what, exactly, the Power Broker offers. It breaks her whole mission wide open, is enough to take out the weapons ring and the Power Broker organization all in one fell swoop... if she can just get the proof, get it to Nick.
And get the hell out of here.
Here, tonight, is the Bronze Monkey, the bar Selby owns purely for the back rooms in which she holds court each night. Sharon, a hood tugged over her bright hair, drifts in the crowd, keeping a sharp eye on the newcomers, the regulars; the people who are drinking too much and the people who aren't drinking enough.
It's quiet, so far. But she's learned that one thing she can't trust in Madripoor is a quiet night.
