Sharon Carter (
from_the_outside) wrote2021-05-14 11:58 am
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[oom] the rules have changed since I learned to play
Five days has never felt so goddamn long. Fortunately, there's a lot to do.
She throws herself into mission prep, spending hours strategizing with Steve and Nakia and T'Challa and Ayo, going over the exit paths Bucky had outlined, discussing their bid, their timing, their plan, their back-up plan, their back-up to the back-up.
She works with Shuri on the newest iteration of her suit: improved, stab-proof, and locked away inside a chic gold bracelet. It takes a little while for her to get used to how it responds, but after a few hours of testing and adjusting, she can call it into being with a second's thought.
She and Steve have long calls with Fury, going over the intel he's collected on the other guests. There's only one Fury's really concerned about, a representative from the crime-soaked island of Madripoor. The rep's name is Kwan, but it's the person he's representing that has Fury worried.
"This guy calls himself the 'Power Broker,'" he tells her and Steve. "Word is he takes it literally. If someone out here is looking to merge Chitauri tech and vibranium, it's this asshole."
But even she can't be in meetings all the time, and at least once a day she packs her laptop and intel into her tote bag and heads down to the little hut by the lake where she checks on the goats (all doing just fine under K'Senge's care), the hut (untouched), and more often than not sits for an hour or more under the shade tree, trying not to picture Bucky lounging next to her.
Steve sometimes accompanies her. He's doing his best, she knows: he always seems to be nudging her to eat something or reminding her when it gets late that she should sleep. And he's good company. It's not his fault he isn't his best pal.
Who is absolutely everywhere she looks: in her room, down by the lake, in the meeting rooms, in the lab; everywhere.
She'd been sitting beneath the shade tree the afternoon after he went under when Anwuli, the little girl with the pretty beaded bracelets, came shyly up to her, holding out a small bouquet of wildflowers. "From the White Wolf," she told Sharon, who took the flowers, wordless, as everything she'd tamped down in the lab threatened to spill right back out of her.
"Thank you," she'd said, and the little girl had flushed and run off.
That had been five days ago. She's received four more bouquets since. They sit in water in her room, filling it with a faint sweet fragrance as she looks at herself in the mirror, putting the final touches on Irma and waiting for Steve to arrive.
Nearly time.
She throws herself into mission prep, spending hours strategizing with Steve and Nakia and T'Challa and Ayo, going over the exit paths Bucky had outlined, discussing their bid, their timing, their plan, their back-up plan, their back-up to the back-up.
She works with Shuri on the newest iteration of her suit: improved, stab-proof, and locked away inside a chic gold bracelet. It takes a little while for her to get used to how it responds, but after a few hours of testing and adjusting, she can call it into being with a second's thought.
She and Steve have long calls with Fury, going over the intel he's collected on the other guests. There's only one Fury's really concerned about, a representative from the crime-soaked island of Madripoor. The rep's name is Kwan, but it's the person he's representing that has Fury worried.
"This guy calls himself the 'Power Broker,'" he tells her and Steve. "Word is he takes it literally. If someone out here is looking to merge Chitauri tech and vibranium, it's this asshole."
But even she can't be in meetings all the time, and at least once a day she packs her laptop and intel into her tote bag and heads down to the little hut by the lake where she checks on the goats (all doing just fine under K'Senge's care), the hut (untouched), and more often than not sits for an hour or more under the shade tree, trying not to picture Bucky lounging next to her.
Steve sometimes accompanies her. He's doing his best, she knows: he always seems to be nudging her to eat something or reminding her when it gets late that she should sleep. And he's good company. It's not his fault he isn't his best pal.
Who is absolutely everywhere she looks: in her room, down by the lake, in the meeting rooms, in the lab; everywhere.
She'd been sitting beneath the shade tree the afternoon after he went under when Anwuli, the little girl with the pretty beaded bracelets, came shyly up to her, holding out a small bouquet of wildflowers. "From the White Wolf," she told Sharon, who took the flowers, wordless, as everything she'd tamped down in the lab threatened to spill right back out of her.
"Thank you," she'd said, and the little girl had flushed and run off.
That had been five days ago. She's received four more bouquets since. They sit in water in her room, filling it with a faint sweet fragrance as she looks at herself in the mirror, putting the final touches on Irma and waiting for Steve to arrive.
Nearly time.
no subject
"Get ready, everyone. We may have a big target on our back soon."
We are in position, T'Challa assures her. And so is Agent Ross and his men. We will not let anyone slip through our net.
Turning, she keeps Steve just behind her left shoulder. He's positioned them well, with their backs protected, but she can't help feeling like they're in a kill box.
It's a few tense moments later when Gray appears, Marcus in tow, and claps his hands for their attention. "My dear friends," he says. "I'm delighted to announce the winner of our little auction: she is new to our brotherhood, but clearly will make her own mark. Ms. Irma Kruhl, the winning bid is yours."
no subject
It's Kwan who concerns him most, however. True rage passes over the man's face, swiftly concealed behind an ice-cold mien. He gives a slight bow to 'Kruhl,' as though acknowledging an opponent, and says nothing as Gray continues,
"Ms. Kruhl, if you and your associate will come with me to complete the purchase?"
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"We're moving clear of the room. Send in the cavalry."
Ross has to sweep the guests up while they're in the area in order to pin anything on them, but it can't be while she and Steve are in the room. She returns Kwan's nod and follows Gray out of the reception area and down a short hall to a beautifully appointed office. This building may be rented, but he does things right.
"This will only take a moment," he tells her, and gestures for her to take out her phone. "As soon as the digital transfer goes through, the item is yours."
She pulls up the app and takes a second to hope that Shuri had spoofed the account correctly, then swipes a finger and smiles as his phone chimes. "Done. And may I say, a very great pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Gray."
Somewhere outside the building, those code words set action in motion.
no subject
Outside the building, where he's stationed in one of the JTTF surveillance vans, T'Challa's voice sounds in Everett Ross's ear. "They are moving!" It takes a lot to keep his teeth from grinding at not being the one to call the shots on this one, but Wakanda's king has more than earned his trust, and it's one of his people on the inside; none of his team had been able to secure an invitation.
"Go!" he snaps to his task force. "Green light, green light, all teams converge!"
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It's fine; they'd planned for this. She carries the locked briefcase containing prototype and plans and follows Gray down the stairs as sirens blare and the sounds of fighting escalate.
"You are quite well prepared," she comments to Gray as he holds open a door for her. It leads to a basement level with an unobtrusive exit; too bad for Gray they've already tagged this way out as one of their own exit strategies. T'Challa and the others will –
Gray makes a strange choking sound and collapses, and she nearly trips over him before she realizes what's happening.
"Ms. Kruhl," comes the smooth, high tenor, and Kwan steps from the shadows, his two guards in tow. One has already shot Marcus. She can't see if he's alive or not, but the main problem right now is this:
Kwan and his men are between them and the exit. "I can see you're in a rush," he continues. "But I really must insist you take a moment to consider the business opportunity I'm about to present to you."
"I think not," she says, tightly, and doesn't even glance at Steve. "Ryan?"
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The shouts from upstairs are getting closer. Steve's head jerks up as they suddenly get a lot louder, too - clearly someone's found the stairwell. He moves swiftly to Sharon's side and takes her arm. "We've got to go. Now."
Ross and his team will round up everyone they can find. They can't afford for either of them to be caught, especially not with what they're carrying.
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Not quite agile enough for them to be out the door before sounds of a fight break out behind them, and although she knows she shouldn't, she looks. There's a brief second while Steve forces a lock they hadn't expected when she glances behind and sees – oh, crap, Ross. The guard hadn't hit Kwan hard enough, and he got the drop on Ross.
Sharon does a quick mental calculation – Ross' back is to her and Steve is through the door – and makes a decision. She reaches for the sidearm in her hidden thigh holster and in the space of a breath squeezes off three quick shots.
Center mass. Absolutely perfect. And as Ross turns, she's heading through the door in a flick of blonde hair.
Steve jams it behind them and they make for the open air of the street. She prays the extraction team is right where they ought to be.
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Ross spins around in time to see the blonde woman in the black dress who'd just saved his life vanish through the door, and as realization hits for a second it feels as though she's shot him instead.
Carter. That was Carter, who, evidently not satisfied with blowing up her incredibly promising career and being named enemy of the state, has apparently decided to go for an encore performance by fucking around with the illegal weapons trade in stolen vibranium.
Goddammit. How he's going to explain this to T'Challa, he hasn't a clue.
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Disappear.
"This cloaking tech is the best," Sharon tells Nakia, seated at the wheel of the car they've piled into. Light spills from its exterior like water off a duck; it's nearly impossible to see in the dim light of the Prague evening. She only grins and hits the accelerator, taking them away from the fray and towards the quiet location where T'Challa and the others wait with the flyer that will take them home. "Package secure," Sharon tells the earpiece. "We're heading your way now."
Update complete, she grins at Steve. For the first time in five long days, she feels amazing. "Nice job. You may graduate spy school yet."
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T'Challa steps forward as they get out of the car. "Well done," he says. "And thank you."
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They head into the cloaked flyer as she says to Steve,
"Looks like you and Sam and Nat have a few new leads to track down."
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"I will follow up with Ross later," he tells them. "You have done a great kindness for Wakanda, for my people, and for me. We are no strangers to those who would steal and misuse our vibranium, but this is more. I am in your debt."
"You're not," Steve says, a little more sharply than might be expected. "If anything, it's the other way around."
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With Fury in the mix she's sick to death of the 'who owes who what' game. T'Challa is a proud man, she knows... but he is also someone who understands the give and take tidal push and pull of the world.
"We were happy to help. You owe us nothing."
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"We will be home in only a few hours," he says. "Less than you may expect. You have not seen Ayo handle a flyer."
"My king!" Ayo protests, from the front, and Nakia laughs. "What? It is true!"
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The mission is over. Her part in it is, anyway, for now. Weeks of work, of worry, of planning, all finished. If she lets herself, she'll be looking down the barrel of who knows how long before another project comes along, and in the midst of her relief and triumph, there's just the faintest niggling of trepidation.
Back to Wakanda. And Steve will head back out again, until –
She's going to have to find something to do with herself. And soon.
But for now, there's nothing to do but enjoy the flight.