Chapter Text
Irma Kruhl curses at her through the gag.
“I know,” Sharon says soothingly, taking one last look at the woman and then checking her reflection. “It’s really hard out here for a hack weapons dealer.”
She steps into the closet and checks Irma’s bonds one more time. “Be good,” she says, and then she closes the closet door, barricades it, locks up behind her, and heads out into the night.
The mission is clear-cut enough. She gets Kingpin on record admitting to weapons trafficking.
It’s never that easy, though. First, because it’s Kingpin, and second, because he’s smart, and he’s careful.
And also because Captain America - the Captain America – crashes her mission.
“Ma’am, don’t make this worse than it has to be,” he tells her, and she stares at him. Those are her words, the words written on the bottom of her foot.
She stares at him, in his blue spandex and red and white stripes. Even if she didn’t work with SHIELD, she’d know him. Not the man under the mask – very few people know his real identity – but she definitely knows Captain America.
But henchmen are watching, and there’s no telling how much use she can get out of this cover. She can’t drop everything to chat with him. “I’d love to stay and chat, big boy, but some of us have more important things.”
She’s barely aware of what she’s saying. It’s all bravado, really. All barely keeping it together as she runs and lets him pummel the henchmen so she can make her escape. She knows she can’t fight Captain America herself.
Had she called him big boy?
“You’re assigning me to Captain America’s team,” she tells Nick.
“Am I,” Fury drawls.
“He’s put together a team to find Irma Kruhl, right? I want in on it.”
His eye twinkles as he stabs a cigar at her. “You know that’s you, right? He’s not going to find Kruhl. Not the fake one. Not the real one.”
She doesn’t ask where the real one is. She doesn’t need to know. “He’s my soulmate. He said my words when I was undercover. I want to scope him out and get to know him first. You know. Check him out.”
Fury looks at her for a long time. “That sounds like something I would do,” he admits.
That doesn’t mean he thinks it’s the right course of action. Fury’s made a lot of mistakes, and he knows it.
Fury steeples his fingers to his lips, and the time passes in silence.
“Fine,” he says at last. “I’ll tell him I’ve assigned you to the team. He might not like it.”
“You won’t tell him why?”
“Are you kidding?” Fury grins in a way that suggest that as a man who doesn’t have cable, he has to find his amusements where he can. “No.”
She nods and turns to leave.
“Keep me updated,” he calls after her.
The man has got to get cable.
The team is small, and it’s clear she’s the odd person out. He clearly knows the others already. Winter Soldier is… unexpected. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, doesn’t surprise her. She is surprised by Sam Wilson, who doesn’t seem to have any spy experience.
But he’s friends with them all.
Which means, as the odd one out, most of them don’t trust her. She knows Natasha enough to expect she and Natasha will get along fine enough even if Natasha withholds information. Sam doesn’t seem to have any question of accepting her and seems to think he himself is the odd man out. It’s only Captain America and Winter Soldier that openly show they don’t trust her, even if they’re still polite and civil.
She smiles her most charming, innocent smile. She’s only a novice, she seems to say. Like Fury had said, she’s only here to learn from the greats. Look, she even has a little notebook.
The first meeting involves a rundown of Irma Kruhl, weapons dealer to some of the head honchos, currently missing. And, Captain America notes, his soulmate.
“Wow,” Sharon – here going by Agent 13 – breathes. “Your soulmate is a weapons dealer?”
“So it appears,” he says grudgingly.
“Wow,” she says again. She circles the name Irma Kruhl in her notebook, scribbles the word IMPORTANT in capital letters, and draws an arrow pointing at it before looking at him in wide-eyed innocence.
She’s already thinking about how she’ll tell this story to Fury later on, and she hopes she can keep herself from laughing until then.
After a moment’s consideration, she draws a couple stars around IMPORTANT.
“So what do we do when we find her?” Natasha asks. “I wouldn’t imagine you want your soulmate in prison.”
“And she’d have to serve time in prison, right?” Sam chimes in. “She’s a criminal. A bad one.”
Sharon refrains from asking what good criminals are like, deeming it too stupid for her current cover.
“At least she’s honest,” Captain America says. “You can’t make any progress if someone isn’t honest. Maybe that’s enough to help her to atone. Maybe get pardoned.”
Sharon blinks at him. She blinks some more. She concentrates on blinking so she doesn’t laugh at what a ridiculous notion it is that Irma Kruhl, who has personally sold weapons to terrorists, assassins, and domestic abusers all, could atone and get a pardon. The idea that Irma Kruhl, who had built a reputation and series of nigh-untraceable bank accounts to match, would give that up to be with a guy who wears his underwear on the outside of his spandex. When she’s sure she won’t lose control if she opens her mouth, she instead says, “That’s so nice.”
Her soulmate, it appears, is an idealistic idiot. She’s not sure what to make of that.
He’s also careful. In a horribly stupid way, of course. He only goes to SHIELD with his mask on. But he also takes it off in the alley a couple blocks away.
Yes, she’s tailing her soulmate. How else is she going to find out more about him when he thinks she’s a villain?
She tails him to an apartment.
He’s lucky she isn’t out to kill him, she thinks. The man is an idiot.
At night, she lies in bed and twists to look at her soulmark. She can’t believe he’d called her “Ma’am.” Like she’s old enough to be a “Ma’am.” He talks like the original Captain America, the one from the stories, the one who’d punched Hitler.
Wouldn’t it be awful, she thinks, if he’s the original Captain America, like they say? Like if he isn’t just a propaganda replacement the government found to boost morale, but if he really is that old. So, so old.
If the universe has paired her with someone like that, what does that say about her?
He’s a morning person. She detests morning people. They always call meetings in the morning. First thing. Before she’s had time to settle. When her brain hasn’t had time to work. When she makes little mistakes, like grabbing a straw to write with.
He’s not a total monster, though. He provides breakfast at his morning meetings. And he has coffee. Strong coffee.
He smiles at her when she comes in – she’s made a point of being early. It’s important to make a good impression for when he realizes she’s her soulmate. If he ever does. Because he’s an idiot. Such an idiot. She knows where he lives. She knows that he’s handsome without the mask. She’ll find out more.
When she’s awake. Because right now, especially trying to give the best possible impression, she’d gotten dressed while half-asleep and might have her blouse on inside out. Not that she’ll care to check until she’s had a couple cups of coffee.
She gives him a weak smile in return, but her eyes keep going to the coffee. “That’s for us?”
“Of course,” he says, and she attacks as strategically as her sleep-fogged brain will allow. “Not a morning person?”
She fights down her scowl. Fucking duh she’s not a morning person. “Not really,” she says politely. The coffee is too hot to drink right away, so she holds it under her nose and inhales deeply. “You look like you’re in your element, though.”
He looks at the dry erase board behind him. His handwriting is so perfect it looks almost typed. He’s been working on a plan to find Kruhl.
Shame. Thanks to Fury, Sharon knows the cell she’s in. He’s not finding her.
“I try,” he says.
She drifts closer, reading over his notes.
“I’ve got folders, too,” he offers. “I wanted to have them yesterday, but the printer broke.”
“Never let it know you need it,” she advises. “Like a cat, only the printer itself decides when to function.”
His lips quirk. “And here I was thinking you were the one here to learn.”
She shrugs and inhales her coffee again. She gives it an experimental sip. Still too hot, but damn is it good. “I don’t know what Fury thinks I’ll learn,” she admits, generously throwing all the blame for the situation on her absent boss. “But I’ve heard really good things about all of you and how skilled you are. Except Mr. Wilson, but if you deem him worthy of being here, that must mean he’s got a lot to offer.”
“Sam’s great,” he says. He looks at her sideways. “You know, you look kind of like her?”
Sharon knows exactly who he means, but she feigns ignorance. “Romanoff? I don’t think so.”
“No, Irma Kruhl.”
She blinks at him. “Really?” She frowns at him. “In the pictures you passed out yesterday, she looked… I thought I might look younger.”
His eyes widen. “I don’t- I’m not saying-”
“And I don’t wear those glasses…” Her lips form a line and she shakes her head as if chastising herself. “Sorry, Captain. I’m afraid your soulmate and I have different fashion tastes.” She tries not to look offended as she murmurs to her coffee in distaste, “Her bangs.”
Natasha comes in and goes straight for the coffee. “Is he thinking of getting bangs?”
Sharon studies Captain America’s cowl. “I don’t know,” she admits, thinking of how his hair twists to the side with light curls that could be very nice to run her fingers through. “I don’t know what he likes without the cowl.”
“Ms. Kruhl,” Captain America says, his voice a little too loud. “We were talking about Ms. Kruhl’s bangs.”
Natasha chugs the coffee, and Sharon watches in fascination. Done, Natasha swallows and licks her lips as her pupils dilate. Not that Natasha seems to notice or care. “They’re intense,” she says, throwing in her own opinion about Kruhl’s bangs.
Sharon puts three fingers in the middle of her forehead. “Very selective.”
“Only the most elite part of her forehead deserves to be covered,” Natasha agrees.
Captain America clears his throat. “Maybe that’s the fashion where she’s from.”
“Not even the Mole Man is that bad at fashion,” Natasha mutters.
Winter Soldier and Mr. Wilson arrive, and the small team gets to work trying to track Kruhl’s movements. Partly to impress them, partly to see if he figures it out, she gives a detailed report on everything SHIELD knows about her.
At one point, Winter Soldier holds up the picture of Kruhl and holds it in the space between him and Sharon, looking from one face from the other.
“Wait,” Natasha says, and she walks around the table and puts three fingers down Sharon’s forehead.
Winter Soldier gives what passes for a nod. “Uncanny.”
Sharon gives a long-suffering sigh. “Can we get to work, please? I was thinking how we could check prisons in other countries to see if she might be in one of them.”
“Or operating underground,” Captain America says quickly. “Laying low. Maybe thinking things over.”
Natasha reclaims her seat. “Careful, Cap. People might start to think you like this girl.”
“God only knows why,” Sharon says. “Bangs like that – you’d have to look at those.”
“They’re futuristic,” he says defensively.
Her soulmate, Sharon thinks, might be too far gone.
At least she’d put her shirt on right.
“Let me take your coat.”
Sharon damn near jumps out of her skin. She drops her mail to pull her gun, only to recognize Natasha’s smirking face before Sharon can blow the redhead’s brains out.
“So where’s Irma Kruhl?” Natasha asks pleasantly.
“No idea,” Sharon says honestly. Well. Somewhat honestly.
“Mm,” Natasha hums.
They stare at each other, each waiting for the other to crack and explain themselves.
Instead, Sharon blinks. “Did you make coffee?”
“You took too long getting home from work.”
Sharon sighs. “All I did was go by the grocery store.”
“Was the grocery store on this continent?”
Sharon sighs again.
“So you were undercover when you and Steve said each other’s words,” Natasha prompts.
Sharon’s head comes to attention. “His name is Steve?” Crap. Steve is the name of the first Captain America. What a nerd. What does it say about her that her soulmate is some guy named Steve?
“Your name is Sharon,” Natasha points out with a smirk.
Sharon flips her off.
“Let me guess. The grocery store is in Steve’s neighborhood.”
Sharon flips her off again. This time, though, she looks a little guilty.
“And you’re on the task force to get to know him independent of the soulmark,” Natasha concludes.
Sharon shrugs, then shrugs harder. “Fine. Yes. We’re soulmates. He thinks I’m someone else. I’m scoping him out.”
“And Fury thinks it’s funny.”
She shrugs again.
“Because it is,” Natasha agrees.
Sharon blinks at her. Again.
“I’ll help,” Natasha says pleasantly. “I want to see how long it goes. He’s a nice guy, but his brain is not geared toward women.”
Sharon scowls. “Is it working at all?”
Natasha doesn’t argue. “Have you thought of how you’re going to come clean to him?” Natasha points out, as if Sharon would have come clean by now if she has.
Sharon frowns. “I’m kind of hoping he realizes I’m not an arms dealer on his own.”
Now Natasha sighs. “So you’re both idiots.” She straightens and cracks her knuckles. “At least this will be fun.”
Sharon looks at her curiously.
Natasha only gives her a pleasant smile before slipping out Sharon’s front door.
Sharon fills up on coffee the next day. She hadn’t slept much the night before, her mind fueled by thoughts Natasha’s visit had left behind and her body fueled by the coffee Natasha had left behind.
“Long night?” Steve says as he comes in.
She pours him a cup and hands it to him, and he holds it takes a polite sip before slyly setting it aside, trying not to grimace. “It works better if you don’t try to taste it,” she says before chugging hers.
He takes a breath and moves nearer, setting up a fresh pot. By the time he’s done, Sharon has finished off her coffee and is trying to ignore the aftertaste. “Feeling better?” he asks politely.
No, she thinks, because Natasha’s right. Instead she says, “Another couple cups and I’ll finally be ready to commune with God. How do I look?”
He glances at her, then gives her a quick but professional lookover. “Um. Fine?”
Sharon nods even as her heart sinks. Only fine. She’d hoped for more. She clutches her coffee cup. “So do people at SHIELD do group activities? Getting-to-know-you things? Since Mr. Wilson and I are the newbies in the bunch…”
“Maybe,” he promises as so many people with no intention to follow through have done. He gives her a curious, but serious and contemplative, look.
Is the room vibrating or did she drink too much bad coffee too fast? She looks up at him.
“Coffee should be ready in a minute,” he says simply. “Let’s get to work.” He takes his place at the head of the table and starts looking through arrest reports.
Sharon doesn’t move away from the coffee. She watches him. She can’t not watch him. Not right now. She should stop, though. She doesn’t want to be a creep, even if he is her soulmate. Even if she is currently pretending to not be his soulmate while she pretends to help him find the woman he thinks is his soulmate.
She takes a breath and forces herself to focus on the coffee pot that is filling up at the speed of a water drip in a bathtub.
Natasha, she knows, is right. She hasn’t told Steve - Captain America - who she is. And that means when she finally does, things are going to be bad. She’s gotten to know him under false pretenses. And in the meantime, he’s going to pursue Irma Kruhl, convinced he can save her.
The coffee is finally ready, and she pours herself a generous cup. Then she takes Natasha’s cup and fills that, too, because turnabout is fair play and all that. She finishes hers and is drinking Natasha’s when she says, “I’m Sharon, by the way.”
He looks up as if surprised she’d spoken. “Oh. Hi, Sharon,” he says. He points to his cowl. “I’d give you my name. But you know. Secret identity and all that.”
“Right,” she says, because of course.
Natasha is right. They’re both idiots. And now they get to suffer for it.
The group falls into a routine. They all have their own missions, of course, but when they can, they’re in the room that has been assigned to them.
Sharon reveals a computer program she’s written to monitor arrest reports. If anyone comes in with Irma Kruhl’s description or known aliases, no matter what country, SHIELD will get a ping as soon as the report goes through. Steve seems pleased. Not pleased enough to tell her his name, but enough to give her a smile that could melt a sky’s worth of clouds on a winter’s day.
Natasha and Sam invite her to little get-togethers sometimes, and Steve more rarely. She learns more about them. Sam’s address. His family. A little bit about Steve’s hobbies. The way Natasha likes her coffee. She still knows too little, especially about Steve. Or at least, that’s what she thinks until she realizes she knows absolutely nothing about the Winter Soldier’s in any capacity. Though she’s started to think he looks familiar. His profile especially…
She realizes at the get-togethers that they interact without her. She’d known that all along, of course. They work together. They’re friends. She’s the newbie. She just thought, somehow…
No, screw somehow. Steve is her soulmate. She’s working with him. Why the fuck isn’t she being invited to the fucking barbecue?
That she isn’t supposed to know about, so it isn’t like she can ask him.
She could dress up as Kruhl again, she thinks. But at this point, Steve would bash a wall down with his shield and accost her, begging her to turn good, to give up her life of crime and be with him, and… hell. Maybe keep her in a trunk under his bed until she complies? She doesn’t know. But she knows he won’t give up.
How can he not recognize her? How can he not want to talk to her, know more about her? They’re fucking soulmates, the dipshit.
And yes, that means she spends more time in training and on the shooting range and burning off steam. And she floats the idea to Fury that she might be more useful with some side projects, like all the others have.
In the meantime, she tries to be helpful. She tries to be more like… well. A better version of herself. Always early, even when she has to drag herself to work with her cold, dead, coffeeless fingers. She tries to be quick. Competent. Hard-working. Plodding along, doing what it takes. Well, more so. Because eventually, this has to work, right? Otherwise, she has to tell him that while she’s his soulmate, she’s technically been lying to him this whole time, and he was too dumb to realize it.
She gets called into Fury’s office and hopes to high heaven it’s for a mission where she can punch someone. There’s a buzz, a hum of electricity in her marrow. She’ll finally be out from behind a desk. She’ll finally be flexing her muscles.
As soon as he sees her, he says, “You’re being reassigned.”
She frowns. “What about the task force?”
He looks like he has bad news, and also like he wants popcorn to munch on while he tells her all about it. “You’re being reassigned from the task force.”
“What? Why?”
Fury can’t completely suppress his grin. “Because you look so much like his soulmate that you’re weirding him out.”
What. The. Fuck.
Okay. So apparently it isn’t just that she looks so much like Irma Kruhl. It’s that Sharon’s been shopping at his supermarket. Showing up in his neighborhood. They keep showing up at the same places at SHIELD. The one time she’d gone to the museum in years, he’d been there. It hadn’t been by design, but there’s no way to prove that.
And of course she shows up in his neighborhood. They live in the same area. And yes, she goes a little farther to go to the supermarket closest to him, but that’s because she’d found out their hamburger meat is better than the ones near her, and she’s always been particular about her burgers.
She can’t believe it.
She’s in trouble for stalking her soulmate.
She laughs about it with Fury, putting on a brave face, and then she goes home and tries to figure out if she can get the beef delivered. She can give up her soulmate, but her burgers?
Who’s she kidding? She’ll never be able to eat those burgers without thinking of how her soulmate – her soulmate - has rejected her.
At least she’s reassigned, and the mission looks like it’ll keep her on her toes. A cat-and-mouse game with the Red Room. She’ll be helping Natasha, not running point, but Russian spies are no joke. At least she has that, she tells herself. With luck, maybe she’ll be busy enough to forget Steve entirely.