[oom] I'm right here beside you

[from_the_outside]

 Sleep is a joke.

It's not just the intel that she stays up sifting through, blue light straining her eyes; it's not just the coffee she drinks, trying to keep her brain sharp and her thoughts on track. 

It's time.

Minutes that slip away, that she can't get back. Hours that tick ponderously past. She lies alone in her bed and can't close her eyes because if she does, if she sleeps, it's another night gone, another night closer to the day Bucky goes back under and –

So she stays up and works. 

It means that when she waits for him in the morning to come find her before they meet with T'Challa and the others, her skin is pale and translucent and she has that sick feeling of an all-nighter, fatigue poisons running rampant through her bloodstream – but she has a list of observations from her analysis, and two mugs of coffee kept warm on the credenza: one pale with milk and sugar, the other black and as strong as her little coffee maker could handle.

Comments

[from_the_outside]

She disappears into the bathroom without comment and runs the tap into the pitcher, steadfastly not looking at herself in the mirror as she does. That prickly feeling hasn't gone away; if anything, it's getting worse.

But he's not the one to take it out on. She glances at him as she comes back into the main room, before she pours the water into the coffee maker, sets the mug he'd used earlier underneath the percolator, and hits the button. "Next time you talk to him, then?" she asks.

It'll be soon. Steve will want to check in with them on this operation regardless.

[nerves_of_ice]

"We'll see," he says, a little cautiously. He's watching her more warily than before. "He knows what Shuri was planning. We talked about it before I went under the first time."

A beat of silence.

"Why?"

[from_the_outside]

She shrugs, shakes her head. "I just think he'd want to know. Be here when you come back out of it."

Which Bucky knows, of course. There's not a snowflake's chance in hell that Steve Rogers would miss this.

Turning around to lean back against the credenza as the coffee percolates, she folds her arms and gives him a faint quirk of a smile. "What've you got planned for the rest of the day?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He regards her steadily.

"Sharon."

[from_the_outside]

Her mouth presses and her arms tighten, just slightly, across her body as she meets that level gaze of his, but the coffee maker gurgles and beeps and she lifts her eyebrows as if to say saved by the bell and turns to take the mug, setting her own back under the percolator and hitting the button again. "What?"

She takes the few steps necessary to pass him the mug. "It's not a hard question. I'm going to guess...something with the goats. Or clearing more brush."

[nerves_of_ice]

He sets the mug aside on the nearest stable surface and reaches to put his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up as he meets her eyes.

Bucky doesn't say anything else, but waits, patiently.

[from_the_outside]

The thing is, she can't hold his gaze for long, because when she meets those steady, smoke-blue eyes of his, that thing starts clawing at her stomach and whispering in her ear again, saying there's no time, saying you can't let them get to him, not again, and she has to look away, down and to the side.

"Yeah," she admits. It's more of a sigh than a word. "I know. I'm trying too hard, huh?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"A little," he agrees, letting go of her chin. "Tell me what's wrong."

[from_the_outside]

She doesn't say where should I start? and feels like she deserves a goddamn medal for self-restraint. Instead, she wets her lip and looks away like she might find a handy answer written on the wall before meeting his eyes again. "I don't know."

It's the truth. The thing that's sinking desperate claws into the inside of her ribs isn't just everything from yesterday and the prospect of even more trouble down the line. She shakes her head. "That call from Fury rattled me more than it should have."

The ghost of a smile touches her lips and eyes. "Maybe I've just gotten past the point of being able to deal with him without a good night's sleep."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Maybe," he allows. "Although I figure he's pretty hard to deal with on a good day."

He smiles a little, very wryly.

"Would it help if I promise not to shoot him again?"

[from_the_outside]

"It couldn't hurt," she says, just as wry, and turns away as the coffeemaker gurgles and beeps once more. She busies herself for a moment doctoring the coffee, then leans against the credenza once more, mug cradled in her hands, to take a sip.

[nerves_of_ice]

He takes up his own coffee and has a few swallows, considering her.

"Should we talk about what we're going to tell him tomorrow?"

[from_the_outside]

"Probably."

She pushes herself off the credenza to go back to her seat at the little table, lightly brushing her hand across the small of his back as she moves past him. "Do you mean what we'll tell him about you? Or what kind of favor I might be offering in return?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"To be honest, I'm more concerned about that second part," he says.

[from_the_outside]

"And I'm more worried about the first."

That's no surprise, but she relents with a soft sigh. "I know. You got pretty tense listening to that part. But how many things could it be?"

She puts her mug down to fold her arms on the table top as she watches him. "If you needed Agent 13 for a favor, what would you have in mind?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He focuses on her question first. "Espionage. Subterfuge. You're wasted on bodyguard work but you're good at assuming an identity. Probably not sabotage. Or assassination." He eyes her a little carefully. "Which might not be his style anyway."

He lets that hang in the air for a moment, then adds,

"So you probably don't need to worry too much about him knowing about me." He knows perfectly well that it's dark, cynical humor at best, but he has to try.

[from_the_outside]

There's that wry press of her mouth that's not quite a smile again. "Probably not for that, anyway," she agrees.

As for the rest... "My guess is he's working an op that's eventually going to require going somewhere he can't. Like you said: I'm good with identities. He sent me undercover plenty of times in the old days, it would make sense if that's what he wants me for again. Old school spy stuff was never Hill's strong suit."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Just because that's what he wants doesn't mean that's what he gets," Bucky tells her.

[from_the_outside]

"You're right," she says, simply. "But he's pretty good at getting what he wants. Especially when he knows which buttons to push."

And he does.

He might even know about this one, or guess it. If he knows Bucky's here. If he stops to think about why Sharon is. She might know if he manipulates her, but that doesn't mean it won't work.

[nerves_of_ice]

His gaze narrows at that, and he comes to join her at the table. Bucky sets aside his coffee and reaches for one of her hands instead.

"So let's figure out what buttons he might try to push so we can find a way around them."

[from_the_outside]

Part of her wants to argue, to say it's fine, but he says we and it's been a long time since she approached a problem like Fury with a partner, so she threads their fingers loosely together and gives him a tired half-smile.

"He's good with emotion," she says. "Not just the positive ones, although he certainly knows the value of making people feel like they're making a difference, being the hero. He's not above mining guilt and shame and fear, or taking a tragedy and changing the story to fit whatever narrative he needs."

And she's got plenty of guilt and shame and fear to mine. "And he knows me, knows my background, knows my psychological profile. Hell, he's already started pushing buttons. You heard him: I'm useful, someone he can trust."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Yeah, I heard him," Bucky tells her, his grip tightening a little as his voice flattens. "He didn't just call you useful. He called you a useful asset."

He makes himself draw a slow breath before he continues, forcing himself to stay calm, to keep anger locked down deep inside, buried in ice.

"But you're a free agent, Sharon. He doesn't get to use you. Not now, not ever. Assistance is one thing. That's different."

[from_the_outside]

"Hey."

She squeezes his hand, watching that look in his eyes flash before he ruthlessly shoves it back down. "Don't let him get under your skin, too."

Her thumb moves soothingly over the back of his hand as she watches him. "That's what he does," she tells him. "He pushes the right buttons, it's my idea. My choice. He knows he can't order me to take an assignment anymore, but if he comes across something he knows I couldn't resist, or finds the right leverage to use on me?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not saying he's going to try to control me like a puppet. But he's right. I am a useful asset to him. And the thing is, he knows I'd help if he asked. If I could. He'd just rather we owe him than the other way around."

[nerves_of_ice]

He's quiet for some time, thinking. Finally, he says,

"It's not going to surprise you to hear me say that choice matters." One corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry expression that's not quite a smile. "So when it comes to trading favors with a guy like Fury, maybe the trick is to be the one making the choice about what to give -- or refuse."

[from_the_outside]

"That, I think we can manage," she tells him. "He's in no position to make ultimatums, and that's not his style anyway. Unless he comes up with something we can't say no to, we've got a degree of flexibility here."

And she can say no to a lot. "And he wouldn't want to risk me getting caught and arrested." Not out of sentimentality, though she believes her cares about her, in whatever compartment he allows himself to care about individuals.

It would take a valuable chess piece off the board. "That's to our advantage, too."