he who hesitates is toast

The room has very obviously been Sharon's since childhood: there's a small writing desk under the window; a framed photo with her and her aunt Peggy on the dresser, another of her at her graduation dressed in cap and gown with her parents beaming to either side; a small bookshelf filled half with books and half with trophies; a closet half-full of clothes she doesn't wear any more and plastic storage bins full of who knows what – things she packed away long ago and can't even remember anymore.

But it's neat and clean and the bed is covered in the same kind of heirloom quilt that's in the room Bucky slept in before; she sits on the edge of the bed and toes off her sneakers, tugs the elastic out of her hair.

"You can put those down anywhere."