[OOM] Franche-Comté

[from_the_outside]

There is a small town near the river Loue.

It is notable largely for it's museum (quite a collection of Courbet, for those who enjoy the Realist movement of the 19th century) and its situation near the river Loue: a small village, out of the way of modern-day life and all its hustle and bustle. It's a quiet town, ideal for a few days away from the city, perfect for a mini-break for any homesick American away from the ocean, kept from the slow shuffle of the ocean.

It's the eighth town like it in almost as many months. Small, quiet, out of the way. Perfect for a mini-break.

Or a hideout.

In the clear morning light, it seems impossible to think of this town as anything other than wholesome, friendly: Sharon walks through a small market and smiles at the vendor who sells her a small loaf of fresh bread and some cheese to eat it with, and imagines his stall burning, his wife screaming. She walks along the river, and pictures a town leveled, cars flung on their sides, smoking craters where the road should be.

He hasn't resurfaced. Not yet. No one has been hurt.

That doesn't mean no one will.

Her purview is not to hunt down and apprehend the Winter Soldier, of course.

But that doesn't mean she can't travel, on her free weekends. It's only natural: she's young, single, at a dream posting in Europe.

And it's only natural to ask around the towns she visits, around the museums and markets, for any other Americans who might be in town.

Ex-pats have to stick together, after all.

Comments

[nerves_of_ice]

The look he gives her at that is distinctly unamused.

"I know what I'm going to do. The question is, what are you going to do?"

[from_the_outside]

She lifts her chin, just faintly.

It's an old tic of hers. One she picked up long ago, so long ago she no longer notices she'd started using it, or who she was emulating when she does.

(It might look familiar to the man across the room from her.)

"Lend a hand."

[nerves_of_ice]

He shakes his head, once, but the expression in his eyes has turned thoughtful.

"You're as stubborn as--"

He breaks off there.

[from_the_outside]

"And then some."

It doesn't matter who or what he'd been about to compare her to. It's true regardless. "But I'm handy in a pinch."

And then some.

[nerves_of_ice]

He watches her in silence for a few moments.

"What are your skills?"

He's heard of Agent 13, but what's more important here and now is how Sharon Carter answers the question.

[from_the_outside]

"Oh, your run-of-the-mill SHIELD special agent material."

Breezy. "Various martial arts, incendiaries, a whole bunch of languages. Good with computers, guns, and people. Not to mention my winning personality."

She's won a few hamburger eating contests, too, but it just doesn't seem like he'll be as impressed by that as it deserves. "I could list it all out, but who's got the time? Let me put it this way...

"I was Captain America's security detail. So what do you think that means?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Better than most. And..."

He considers her coolly.

"... Director Fury trusted you."

Which says a lot, all things considered. A beat.

"I'm game if you are."

How this goes will answer the other questions he needs to know about her. Most of them, anyway.

[from_the_outside]

If this goes pear-shaped, right now is the moment she'll look back on and think oh right, shoulda seen that coming.

Right now, she could still walk out the door.

"Great."

(Probably she shouldn't be so pleased.)

"So what's the plan?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"In need of modification," he informs her, as he looks her over, considering.

"With two people involved."

As opposed to himself alone. Of course.

[from_the_outside]

She leans back against the little table her weapon still sits on, arms crossing, one hand flipping up in a shrug.

"So let's modify it."

What the hell. It wasn't like she had big plans for this weekend, anyway.