Trying Your Luck - Bucky BarnesxOC

Part 56: Mr. Blue Sky

Author's Note: This is a Sam Wilson POV flashback just after the events of Civil War. I know this probably doesn't mesh or interconnect well with the film universe and people's opinions on things, but that's why this is an AU. Hence, why Bucky's arm comes off even though it's not supposed to, Bucky has a Sergeant kink, and I just make shit up as I go along when the facts are vague.

This was a super fun little POV to write. I've never written Sam from anyone other than Bucky's perspective before and I've had this written for a while. So, think of this little flashback as an intermission after the stuff that went down in Madripoor with Sharon. This chapter is Sam/Sharon focused. With smut.

I don't care if you don't like the Sam/Sharon ship. Ship shaming is gonna get you muted. I don't tolerate it. Keep it out of my damn comments.

Everyone on the plane is asleep except for Sam. His mind won't stop racing. The shield. Isaiah. The guilt he feels about Sharon. Especially after he just left her.

He never meant for it to happen. She didn't either. It was supposed to be a short meeting, a debriefing if you will. Mostly, he wanted to see if she was okay. They chose a hotel because it made sense. Sharon could book under an alias and then hop on a plane the next day. Where she was going was anybody's guess. Sam didn't tell Steve he was going to see her, just that he was going to get some food. The less people who knew her whereabouts, the easier it would be for her to stay off the grid. The goal was to lay low for a while until things somehow magically worked themselves out.

~~~

New York – June 2016

They use burner phones to arrange the time and date of their meeting. Sam arrives at the hotel in a baseball cap and sunglasses. His burner phone buzzes from a phone number he doesn't recognize, but immediately, he knows it's her.

Room 1508.

Sam makes sure that he's not being followed and puts up his hood so that he blends in with the rest of the hungover hotel patrons on their way to the pool or Sunday brunch. The hotel is shitty – honestly, Sharon could have picked something a little nicer, but it would give too much away and put her at risk. He walks down a hallway that smells like bleach and something he can't quite place – he's not sure he wants to. Gently, he raps on the door.

"Yeah," Sharon mumbles.

"It's me."

The door opens and she ushers him inside, checking the hallway. Every muscle in her body is on high alert. She shuts the door once she's satisfied. Her hair is pulled into a loose ponytail. She looks like she hasn't slept in a couple of days. She's in a black t-shirt and blue jeans. Her fingernails are bitten down to the quick, no doubt an effect of her anxiety. She tries to hide them from him, but Sam is... how did Steve put it? Annoyingly perceptive.

The room doesn't look lived in. Sharon has stripped the sheets and opened all of the drawers to make sure it hasn't been bugged. She's secured the curtains with a clip so no light or prying eyes get in. Her pistol sits on the writing desk. Ready.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs.

"How long are you here for?" He asks.

"One more night. I paid for the room in cash."

"Smart." Sam doesn't sit. He has the feeling she doesn't want him to. "Where are you going?"

Sharon turns her head and smirks at him.

"It's a secret."

She'll never tell him. He nods. He doesn't have to be here, doesn't have to protect her or check up on her. She's not a damsel in distress; never has been. She's a fucking warrior, born and trained for combat her whole life. It's in her blood. Any other career path would have been a mistake. She's a better shot than he is and she can kick the shit out of pretty much anyone and anything that dares cross her path.