Entry tags:

-complete, mobius, sharon carter

Who: Sharon and Mobius
What: A trip (Sharon has business)
When: 10/9 to 10/10
Where: Madripoor
Warning: Handwaved sexy times, offscreen violence/murder, TW: blood, emergency medical treatment, prescription drug use
Status: Completed via Gdoc


While Mobius told Sharon all about the device that he used to travel through space and time, she hadn’t had much chance to see it in action. Actually, she hadn’t seen a lot of Mobius over the last couple of weeks, as there were some issues that had risen in Madripoor. Sharon had to leave urgently, and headed back out there to handle things. Thankfully, of all of the work things that had come up, she’d only had to get her hands dirty a couple of times.

She’d been back and forth twice since the night they had burritos. Thankfully, everyone seemed understanding about her business dealings, and the art trades. She hadn’t had to explain herself to the SHIELD folk, even though the first time she came back to Stark’s San Francisco tower, she was looking a little worse for wear. Seems they weren’t super nosey.

This next trip, though, promised to be a lot less violent urgent. And Sharon was actually really looking forward to bringing Mobius to the city: she couldn’t wait to show him around Hightown. It was a place she actually missed a little, now that she wasn’t forced to stay there. Because she still wasn’t sure how this entire thing was going to go, Sharon had made arrangements for a jet. She could always cancel if Mobius’s device could get them there.

When she arrived at his door, Sharon had a small, overnight bag over one shoulder, and her phone in the other. She knocked gently, then spent the time it took him to answer texting furiously.

It would be exciting, to actually get a chance to visit Madripoor - Mobius thought so, anyway, and he’d been thoroughly packed ever since Sharon gave him the go signal. Because he wanted to be prepared and because he was diligent like that - the last thing he wanted was to make any trip there even more stressful for her if she had to be concerned about him; that wasn’t the goal. No, the goal was to see what she’d built up close and personal - and maybe also provide support for, well, damn near anything.

Constructing a criminal empire - for whatever her reasons had been - was no small feat. It weighed on her, he could see that - there was a lot Sharon was still figuring out about herself and what she wanted; he wouldn’t make decisions for her. He was just there to help, in whatever way he could.

He answered the door, catching her mid-flying thumbs. “I’m all set,” he announced, stepping outside and locking up. “How are we getting there, boss?”

While Sharon wasn't planning for anything dangerous to happen on this trip, there was always the possibility. Afterall, she had a reputation to keep. There were people who knew who she was (though they were definitely few and far between), and she had to keep them in line. The last thing in the world that she would ever do would be to put Mobius in the line of danger. So, this was an above-the-table kind of trip: Art Gallery functions, tour of the city, maybe a club or two.

When Mobius opened the door, she quickly looked up from her frantically flying fingers, and broke into a warm smile at the sight of him. A pleasant pressure filled her chest like drops of ink in water. "Good." She leaned in to tap a kiss against his cheek. They were... whatevertheywere, so she was allowed to do that now, right?

"Ah, I have a jet ready, though... I thought maybe you'd like to show me the TemPad I've heard so much about. Is it functional? Could it get us there in an instant?" That would be so much nicer than an ungodly amount of hours on a plane.

She may be something of a crime boss, operating from the shadows, but Sharon was still kind of cute - the cheek kiss was also cute; it made Mobius chuckle and he slipped an arm around her to kiss her properly, planting one on her mouth - it probably came with a bit of a scratch and mustache tickle, as such was the danger when one had facial hair such as him. It was a nice kiss though, a bit like closing a book halfway through it - made you want to know more.

“The TemPad is functional,” he nodded, fingers tapping a nonsensical rhythm on her hip. “I can just program in the right coordinates - set it Madripoor time, open a Timedoor that leads right to your place, if that’s easiest? Then we can go from there.” He’d stash his things and be ready to party - as much as a square like him even let his figurative hair down, anyway.

Where Mobius was all kinds of scratchy, Sharon was all kinds of smooth. And his wrapping an arm around her for a proper kiss? Well, that was magic. She definitely wanted more. But she was also a grown-up, with grown-up responsibilities. So she knew they had to actually go on this trip. As much as she’d rather curl up with him and watch all the scary movies.

She stayed close while he explained, the fingertips against her hip sending goosebumps down her thigh. And a nod--that sounded like the easiest and quickest way to go. Also, it’d give her some insight into his world. “Let’s give it a try. I’m eager to check it out.”

Mobius almost always had the TemPad with him - he reached into the pocket of his trousers (they were simple dress pants - perfectly pressed and crisp, not so garish and ugly brown as the TVA suit he’d sported for who knew how long, and went with his white button-down shirt), flipping the device open. “Prepare to be - sort of impressed?” he grinned. Distinctly avoiding the Miss Minutes button (because he didn’t really feel like dealing with her southern-tinged snarky commentary right now) he programmed the coordinates for Sharon’s massive penthouse, in the neon-lit Hightown district. The time was programmed to be close enough to what they were used to here in San Francisco so the difference didn’t set them too off kilter and neither did jetlag - they could ease in, rather than being jolted into what felt like another universe.

The Timedoor flickered into view, glowing like the Vegas strip. It would disappear as soon as they stepped through.

“Shall we?” Mobius asked, TemPad slipped back into his pocket before he held out his hand.

So, Sharon knew, logically, consciously, that this was some kind of science. Tech. Something. But when that Timedoor appeared, it was like magic. She turned to it, still clutching her phone in one hand, bag over her shoulder, and reached a hand out as if to touch it. The thing looked… kinda solid. But her fingertips went right through the light.

“Huh.” She pushed her hand in a little farther. “This is…” She turned her attention back to him, withdrew her hand, and slipped hers into his, their fingers twining. “It’s like magic. You’re magical. But then again,” she put a teasing tone into her voice, “I knew that already.”

When he stepped forward, she followed him through the glowing door and straight into the living room of her gorgeous penthouse.

The idea of Mobius (him, just a boring analyst who had gone gray and who read jet skiing magazines for fun) being magic made him laugh a little. “I’m not sure I agree, but if you think so - who am I to argue,” he drawled in that accent - though he supposed seeing something like a Timedoor up close and personal, and seeing it in action, was a little awe-inspiring - for so long, it had been all he knew. He believed he was created, and it wasn’t until Loki catapulted into his life did the lies get holes punched in them and he saw the facist truth for what it was.

He was so far away from that now and, quite honestly, it was pretty freeing - he never thought he’d have something such as this. Never thought he’d be stepping into a Hightown penthouse that belonged to the likes of Sharon Carter either. “Fancy digs,” he complimented, setting his bag down. “Where to first? Are you going to take me for a spin on any dance floor?”

That could be kind of terrifying.

Sharon turned around to look behind them, expecting to see the hallway at Stark Tower in San Francisco. But the door slinked shut, disappearing like… well, like something that disappeared. Sharon was left staring at the opposite wall. Like the door had never even been there in the first place. She gave a gentle, “huh” and turned her attention to him. “...I… I don’t ever want to fly again,” she breathed, breaking into a smile.

Then she set about the place, putting her bag down, turning on lights. It was a beautiful flat, there was no denying it. “I figured you might like a tour first?” She offered, almost a little shyly. (Imagine, Sharon Carter, feeling shy.) This was his first time in her place, though. There was a lot that he could judge her for. The art on the walls, a sock hanging out of a laundry basket like a puppy tongue… was there toothpaste crud on the sink? Had she rinsed it the last time she was here??

“Kitchen, living room, dining room, bathroom, bedroom?” She turned back around to face him, cheeks a little pink. “Or are you antsy to get out on the town?”

Not wanting to fly again was fair. Mobius smiled, stepping closer and reaching for both of Sharon’s hands. To take them both in his. He had a feeling she didn’t really invite many people back here, at least not often - especially not a person she didn’t intend to kick out the next morning. Without offering breakfast.

Though he would probably offer to make breakfast for them both, in all honesty.

“All of that,” he agreed. “Bedroom especially. Short tour first, then when we come back we can take a more thorough tour of that one?” It might be good to know where the kitchen and bathroom actually happened to be, but he definitely wasn’t going to be judging the decor - this place was a hell of a lot fancier than any home he’d ever had.

Ah, he picked up on her nerves, did he? Sharon didn’t often have people over. And staying the night was out of the question. When she did have no-strings fun at her place, they were out the door holding their clothes. No, a man hadn’t slept over in… well, possibly ever. And when she could wrangle a hotel room, that was much preferable. She could leave while he snored. (Sharon almost exclusively dated men. There were a couple of women she’d spent the night with over the last handful of years, but the majority had been men. And none that she let in.)

Her hands slipped into his and she smiled shyly. “All right. Brief tour now. I promise I’ll show you every inch of my bed later.” She gave his hands a gentle squeeze, then released one of them so she could guide him from the living room into the luxury kitchen. “Kitchen. Pantry. Through there is the front door. And back there is the downstairs bathroom.” It was a full bath.

Sharon turned through the living room area, and led him up some stairs. “There’s an office in there, my assistant’s office here, and a guest bathroom, guest bedroom, and through here is the master.” The place was huge, and lovely. It had an elegant, old-world feel to it, though it was obvious that it’d been updated relatively recently: the technology and appliances were state of the art.

Pulling him into the master bedroom, she took a frantic look around, but didn’t see any puppy tongues hanging out of laundry baskets. Her bed was made, throw pillows all in place. The master bath had a tub the size of a spa. Sharon turned around to face him, still holding his hand in hers. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” Mobius replied honestly - he liked the old world charm of the place, the terracotta and the wrought iron and damask draperies. Strong colors, regal colors - befitting of the person who owned the place (and all the art, the conversation pieces that were likely stolen, were just cherries atop the sundae). “Big though. Does it get kind of lonely?”

Bringing people back to her sanctuary probably couldn’t happen too often - not when there were a lot of risks to that; he knew how tightly locked up Sharon kept her secrets. How far she was willing to go to keep them. The fact that she trusted him - well, he wasn’t about to take that for granted.

He laced his fingers with hers, tugging her a little bit closer. “Maybe I can help fill some of the void.” In good ways. Not like he was going to do something annoying like leave the toilet seat up and remind her why she always kicked men out of here.

A deep breath escaped her, one she didn’t know she’d been holding. Relief. He liked the place, he wasn’t judging her. It was strange bringing him here, but it felt good. Right. He was the one person in the world who knew all her secrets--or, most of them, anyway--and she didn’t mind it. A part of her wanted to let him in on everything. Another part wanted to keep him out. Maybe those were the trust issues rearing their ugly head.

“Not really. I’ve always been a fairly solitary creature.” She gave his hand a squeeze, letting him tug her a little closer with their twined fingers. “You’re here now. I say we take advantage.” And she leaned in for another one of those scratchy mustache-tickling kisses.

“I think that sounds like a good plan,” Mobius murmured, smiling into the kiss - he supposed he could shave his mustache, if Sharon felt like she was being massaged by a hedgehog whenever they kissed, but he’d had that thing for so long and was just used to it by now - plus she seemed to like it.

His free hand came up to stroke his thumb along her cheek as he kissed her again - it was like a jolt of nitrogen that danced along all his nerve endings. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Though you’re doing a pretty good job at seducing me so I’m not sure I want to actually leave the penthouse now.” Kidding, he was kidding - he’d somehow manage to charge his social battery and go out in public, not to worry.

Sharon would be very disappointed if he shaved his mustache. As tickly (and prickly) as it was, it was so very Mobius. She leaned in against those lips, one hand resting against his collarbone, the other wrapped down and around his waist. He mentioned her seducing him, and she laughed softly. “Well, then. I suppose we can give up our reservations and stay in.” It was mostly a tease. Mostly. The reservations could be adjusted, the timeline could be adjusted. There were few and far between hard deadlines for this trip. Just a couple of things that Sharon had to attend to.

“Mmmm, no,” she practically groaned, pulling herself out of his arms and taking a step back. As much as she wanted to stay, she knew they should go. “Let’s go out. I promised you a night on the town, and a night on the town you shall have. We can always cut things short and come back later. Pick up where we left off.”

A night on the town, that was pretty exciting. Been awhile since Mobius really cut loose - but if not in Madripoor, then when? It seemed like the perfect place to let one’s hair down - especially since Madripoor didn’t care how you obtained your money, the only thing that was important to anybody was whether or not you even had money or not.

“I think I also promised I’d dance, so there’s that too,” he pointed out with a smirk. “So let’s do this. On the way out I’ll grab a tie.” He had one tucked away in his bag - because while the mustache was also pretty Mobius, the tie was too and he felt naked without one. At the very least, it wasn’t one of those ugly TVA ties he’d been accustomed to for so long. Small favors.

Dancing. That was actually quite exciting for Sharon. She released him completely and stepped away. “Give me two minutes to change.” After that, she moved across the room to her closet. It looked unassuming from the outside, but it was a grand, spacious, walk-in thing with a fantastic selection of clothes. She started to rifle through the dresses and shoes, curating the perfect outfit for a night on the town with Mobius.

“Dinner first?” She called from her spot in the closet. There was the sound of rustling cloth, zippers, shoes dropping to the floor. “I’m not terribly hungry myself, but we do have reservations.”

While Sharon was changing, Mobius went to grab that aforementioned tie - he was back in her bedroom soon after, using one of the mirrors and looping the silk into an elegant knot (and it was something he could do in his sleep by now). “Dinner sounds good,” he agreed. “If you get hungry later I’m sure we can pick something up.” Since he didn’t have have as much of an outfit to put together with actual fashion design skills, he was all set once he got that tie into a perfect Windsor - and he went to lean against the wall outside the closet, eager to see Sharon’s night-on-the-town outfit debut.

“I think this is the first time I’ve actually been in Madripoor for longer than six seconds, anyway. We didn’t make many stops here, when I was with the TVA.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out.” The more Sharon thought of it, the more she wanted a salad. Strange, right? The woman could eat--burrito the size of her head, remember?--but tonight felt like a salad night. And the restaurant where they had reservations had amazing salads.

“Ah, well, we’ll have to show you more than six seconds worth of the night life here, then.” She emerged from the closet a minute later with her dress on, strappy heels buckled to her feet, hair down in cascades around her shoulders. With a shy smile, she turned so he could see the back of her dress unfastened: the long zipper exposing most of her back down to her waist. Pulling her hair out of the way, she added, “a little help?”

Gods. How was Mobius even supposed to concentrate on anything when Sharon was presenting herself in such a way? “You look beautiful,” he complimented, and he meant that. She was gorgeous and also a stone-cold killer and, honestly, he shouldn’t be so into that second part but he was anyway.

That brand of danger was like playing with knives and smashing crockery and turning the magnifying glass on cute little ants, watching them burn - it was easy to forget when she smiled at him like that, though.

But right, her dress. He shouldn’t just stand here and gawk. He pulled the zipper up, dropping a kiss to where her neck and back ran together, the knot at the top of her spine. “All set, then?”

“Thank you,” she spoke humbly. Sharon knew she was beautiful. It was something that she’d banked on for so many years working undercover--she did all the right things: hair, makeup, clothes. And then everything fell apart after her stint at the CIA. She spent five years with it not as a priority. She grew humble. She grew… insecure. Maybe. A little. Having him compliment her warmed her insides. The stone-cold killer was a needy woman deep down.

At the press of his lips to her skin, goosebumps broke out all along Sharon’s upper arms, down her sides. She felt her face flush. “All set. Should we walk?” She turned, releasing her hair, and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. “There’s a skybridge from this building to the one next door, where the restaurant is. The view from the bridge is incredible.”

A skybridge seemed like it’d be ultra fancy - Mobius was all in. What better way to admire the brightness of the stars, the moon dangling in the sky, and the electric glow of the city lights - and Hightown, in Madripoor, was definitely lit up, practically soaked in neon. “That sounds like one way to appreciate the view,” he said, hand patting Sharon’s, the one that was tucked into the crook of his arm.

“By the way, I’m gonna tell you upfront that I had a really good trip - because it’s true.” He worried about Sharon, admittedly. And he knew that she couldn’t just give this all up - but he worried about her going down a path she wouldn’t be able to come back from. He’d told older Loki that it was never too late to change though, and he believed that - so he’d just have to see what happened. Either way, he had true feelings for her and wasn’t about to leave her to navigate whatever came next on her own.

Sharon had spent so much time in Madripoor that she had come to take a lot of its glory for granted. The neon lights, skybridge, fancy restaurants, tall buildings… all of it were just in the backdrop for her. “Good. Come this way.” She led him out of the bedroom, out of the apartment through the front door. They talked along the way.

“...you’re telling me now that you had a good trip? But it’s not even close to over yet.” She raised an eyebrow. “You might end up eating those words, y’know.”

“I won’t,” Mobius promised, and he was relatively confident in that assessment. It wasn’t an invitation for disaster to strike, so he would hope it didn’t. “I just like spending time with you.” They could be sitting around doing nothing or folding laundry, or out dancing or eating tiny expensive bite-sized portions at some expensive restaurant (or eating burgers or burritos at some hole in the wall, didn’t matter) - he’d still be having a good time.

And there was a lot to cover on this trip too, but he didn’t need any psychic ability to know that this type of thing was part of his future that he chose, what he wanted to build on his own. Because screw the TVA, really, it was time for him to really live.

~*~

Sharon was known all over Hightown. Not the Powerbroker, but Sharon Carter, art dealer. She’d connected with many of the big names on the up-and-up: the owner of the restaurant where they went to eat came out to offer them a bottle of wine on the house, and chatted their ears off about the artwork that she’d procured for his second and third restaurant locations; the night manager of the club where they went for a cocktail after their meal came over to say hello and introduce Sharon to her girlfriend (who just happens to own a small chain of hotels, and might be looking for decorating tips); the bartender at the second club they went to gave them drinks on the house because Sharon helped them find an affordable apartment on the Lower West Side. No one knew of Sharon’s underlying darkness, and saw only the wonderful person she showed on the outside.

Honestly, it was exhausting. By the time they hit the dance floor, Sharon’s feet were already screaming in her strappy heels. But Mobius promised he would dance, so Sharon dragged him onto the dance floor to show off their moves.

It had been ages since Mobius had been to any kind of dance club - he vaguely recalled a dive on the moon of Svartalfheim or something like that, a place filled with smoke and where all types went to hook up in whatever bungalow they could squirrel away in. This club, in Madripoor, was a lot different - the good vibes flowed freely, everything electric with sequins catching the rainbow lights; there was a bond that was created somehow, in a place like this, that fully shunned the coldness of the streets outside.

Or the bloodstained streets, depending on where you were.

“Tired?” Mobius asked, hands falling to rest on Sharon’s hips. Dancing he could and would do, though he pulled her close and nuzzled at her neck with his nose - it had been a whirlwind of a night, but also fun. Lots of good food and good drinks, and he’d used a lot of his charming ‘people’ skills too. “Let me know when you’re ready for a few less decibels.”

There was the kind of dancing that was simply people thrashing body parts about, and the kind of dancing that involved simply bouncing to a beat that shook your insides with every thump. There was the kind of dancing where steps had to be memorized, and arms held in positions just so. Then there was the kind of dancing where two people pressed up against one another, swayed in time, arms in an embrace, heartbeats slowing until they were in sync. The kind of dancing she and Mobius were doing was mostly the latter. (At least, during the slow song.) And Sharon couldn’t remember ever having danced like this before.

She grinned at the nose into her neck, tipping her head to the side to expose more skin for him. “Soon. I promised to take you dancing, and we haven’t even done the YMCA yet.” A tease. “You do know the YMCA, don’t you? Did they have it at the TVA, or is that too many acronyms?”

Mobius thought that perhaps he would look a little silly with the wild gyrations masqueraded as ‘dancing’ but in this case, he was perfectly comfortable moving and grooving - he had rhythm, at least, and there didn’t seem to be much to this type of dancing. It was all about rhythm. So he had that going for him.

“We didn’t have anything remotely fun at the TVA,” he snorted, pressing his lips to more of that exposed skin - just all up and down the column of her throat, as his hands locked together on the small of Sharon’s back. “You’re telling me this is the type of club to do the YMCA? Where have you taken me?” Well, he knew that dance - maybe even the robot too, if he truly wanted to be embarrassing.

Goosebumps rose along Sharon’s arm at the feel of his lips on her neck. A part of her wanted to give up on the dancing and just go straight back to her bedroom. (He could use his Tempad to portal them there, right?) At the same time, the flirtations, gentle kisses, dancing, drinks? It was energy building, tension growing, making them both want it more.

“I’m glad I can show you fun now, then,” Sharon offered. She turned to nuzzle her nose into the spot right below his ear. And then a bright, happy laugh. “I could request it. Specially. I’m sure the DJ would do it for me. They owe me a favor.” She lifted her head to smirk at him. “I think you’d be adorable doing the YMCA.”

“That will have to remain a mystery and in your imagination only,” Mobius smirked, giving Sharon a bit of a twirl - His feet were agile, his muscles relaxed. What with the way the lights glowed and how they looked blurrier this way on the dance floor, that just upped the ante on the whole experience. He wasn’t sure if he knew any exact moves to any exact dance but he twisted and turned like he did, holding Sharon’s hands as he changed sides.

It was fun though, and the music made every synapse snap and jump, like oil splats in a hot skillet. “But honestly, who doesn’t owe you a favor in this town?” And why the DJ did, well, Mobius wasn’t sure he wanted to know - even if he guessed it made sense.

The Power Broker owned half of Madripoor, after all.

“It just so happens, I have a very vivid imagination.” Sharon twirled out and in again, meeting his bouncing to the beat with rhythm of her own. While he was certainly impressive with his dance moves, Sharon was graceful; she kept a good beat. The rest of the room was plodding along to the music, and yet with Mobius it felt like the world disappeared. Just the two of them on the dance floor under the sparkling lights and rainbow reflections.

“Ah… yes, well. Now you know my secret. Either they know and love Sharon, or they owe the other one. Or both.” Mostly both, actually. That was how she was able to keep a finger on the pulse in Hightown. Lowtown was a completely different story. She came in close up against his body once more. “...you wanna get out of here?” Had they had enough dancing now?

Both, Mobius would have definitely guessed both. Sharon, as Sharon, was pretty lovable - the Power Broker was a terrifying, shadowy figure (and most people probably falsely assumed the title was held by a man). Less terrifying when she was all up against him like this though.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he chuckled. “I might be dead on my feet in a minute here anyway.” It had been fun, however - he was glad they had such a whirlwind kind of night. But, like in most instances, all good things must come to an end - besides, he really wasn’t the ‘party until 2 in the morning’ type anyway. At least, he definitely wasn’t young enough to be.

He curved his lips around Sharon’s for a brief kiss. “Let’s go. I can do another in-depth tour of your room.”

It had definitely been a whirlwind of a day. At least they were able to skip the exceptionally long plane right. Even on a private jet, that was a long flight. And as much as Sharon said it wasn’t a big deal--she could sleep, eat, and work on the plane--it was. It was exhausting. But even so, several stops and several drinks, and a handful of dances were taking their toll. Let’s face it: neither of them was young enough to be out past their bedtime partying.

The kiss was pleasant. Sharon always wanted more of those, but rather than stop for additional kisses in the middle of a public setting (she could already feel both the bartender’s and the DJ’s eyes on them) she simply slipped her hand into his to lead him off the dance floor. “Y’know… It’d save us a walk back if you used your magic device from a darkened crevice of the room.” Not that it was that far of a walk, but Sharon’s shoes were digging into her feet now.

“Only from a darkened crevice of a room?” Mobius teased. “I shouldn’t just use it right in the middle of the dance floor?” But yes, alright - he thought that was a pretty good idea. So he kept his hand in Sharon’s and led them to a quieter part of the club - not where the dancing and the drinking was happening, but sort of an ‘in between’ spot. A lounge that was basically a Gothic lair full of statues, candlelight, and reproductions of famous paintings hanging from angles that were dizzying even without being under the influence.

It was private enough, in one corner, for him to whip out the TemPad and open up a Timedoor - fingers flying, he keyed in the coordinates for Sharon’s penthouse, just a minute from now so it would literally only take a minute to get there. The door, when it illuminated, was bright enough to light up the space but it’d be a quick trip.

Because as soon as they walked through that glowing door, they’d find themselves back at home base. He was tired, sure, but that second wind meant that he’d be pushing Sharon up against the wall in her room (uh, carefully - consensually, of course) and hiking her dress up, and whether or not they actually made it to her gigantic bed remained to be seen (narrator: they probably would not make it).

~*~

The first day and night in Madripoor on this little excursion were for Sharon. But the second day and night in Madripoor were all business. The Powerbroker had things to do. People to see. Faces to smash. Hopefully few of the latter, but there were definitely some. One of the great things about the way Sharon ran her organization was that she could delegate her responsibilities to others. Sometimes, those others? Didn’t do their fucking job. So Sharon had to bring a baton and smash some faces. She much preferred up close and personal weapons when doing her job because the loud noises sometimes brought trouble. As often as they occurred in Madripoor, gun shots still brought people around. Curious bystanders with cameraphones would mean death to the Powerbroker.

Thankfully, Mobius understood that Sharon had a few things to do. She simply called them errands before she left in the afternoon, claiming she’d be home in time for dinner. But dinnertime came and went, and Sharon didn’t return. Her cell phone was off, left behind, plugged in in her bedroom.

The sun had set, and all the neon lights of Madripoor were shining brightly, still Sharon didn’t return. It was closer to bedtime when she finally arrived home to the penthouse. The front door swung open with a bang, and then Sharon was limping--no, stumbling inside, a hand pressed against her middle.

Alright, so this night hadn’t exactly gone as planned.

Sharon said she’d be back to the penthouse for dinner, so Mobius decided he’d take care of that for her and have something ready - he could handle takeout, and could handle going to pick it up using a quick portal so everything would be fresh and hot. Except it got steadily colder (fish and spices steamed in banana leaves, beef curry with fried rice where the meat was fall-apart tender and some coconut ice for dessert, though admittedly he had to stick that part in the freezer before it melted) as time ticked on.

Then Sharon had finally returned and bang, Mobius heard the door slam - he had texted her a couple times because he was worried but of course she didn’t answer; his biggest fear was that she’d gotten caught up in Lowtown ‘business’ and lost a kidney or something - maybe he should have gone with her. Okay, he definitely should have gone with her even if entangling himself with Power Broker shit was literally the worst idea in the history of ever.

So was trusting a Loki, technically, but that had turned out...mostly fine.

“Sharon,” he breathed out in relief, though his anxiety spiked through the roof again when he saw how she looked. “You just - I can’t believe you - come on, you’re hurt. Come with me,” he insisted, slipping an arm around her to help bring her to the nearest bathroom.

There was a lot of physical pain in Sharon’s world at the moment. She had a gunshot wound in her thigh, and a knife wound at the bottom of her ribcage. She was dirty and banged up aside as well. Thankfully the bullet was through and through, and missed her femur. The knife to her chest glanced off her ribcage and moved down, cutting her open but not hitting any critical organs. It would likely heal better with stitches.

“Mobius,” she said, apologetically. Her words were slightly slurred. Now that she was home the adrenaline was starting to cool off, and she was probably going to go into shock. “I’m okay. I’m fine. You should see the other guy,” she teased, but let him help her toward the bathroom. There may have been bloody droplets along the floor in their wake.

Sharon’s bathroom closest to the front door was still grand, even if the tub wasn’t the size of a small pool like her master bathroom. It was done up in navy blues and creams, with bronze trimmings. By the time they reached it, Sharon had a ring of black around her vision. She leaned heavily against him. While her wounds weren’t immediately life-threatening, they really needed to do something to stop the bleeding. Hopefully Mobius had some medic training.

Oh, this was bad. The bleeding was definitely what worried Mobius the most - he wasn’t a healer, and the TVA had its own infirmary for any mission that went awry but he’d also been around enough to pick up a few tips and tricks. So he could handle this - he could. Hell, he had no choice.

“You’re not fine,” he frowned, closing the toilet seat lid so Sharon could sit on the throne (wasn’t this romantic), and he perched on the edge of the tub to be close enough to grab a clean towel and apply pressure to her wounds to stop the bleeding. In his head, his thoughts were going at a thousand miles per hour as he planned and assessed - he would need to clean the wounds and sew her up, crude stitches done by hand (hopefully she at least had a suture kit here or he’d have to use an old-fashioned needle and thread doused in alcohol to sterilize it) but it’d get the job done. “Keep this all pressed here,” he instructed, switching out the towels to go and rummage through her cabinets for that hopefully-suture kit. Or at least a first aid kit.

“You don’t even have a vet or some off-the-books doctor to go to when you get shot?” he grumbled, shutting the cabinet and thank fuck, he managed to find what he was looking for.

“...still, you should see the other guys.” Sharon landed heavily on the closed toilet. Definitely not romantic. She had not planned for this evening to turn out this way. How was she supposed to know that one of her goons--the one the Powerbroker had to talk to--was going to bring backup to their meeting? Now three bodies would wash up along the Three River Crossing instead of one. No matter. The Hoan Crime Family was likely to take the blame officially, and everyone would know that the Powerbroker was behind it. Mission accomplished.

She lowered her hands to press against both places on her body that were bleeding. Her hands were feeling weak, though, and the black around the edges of her vision was getting a little worse.

The first aid kit under the bathroom sink was definitely intense. Fully stocked, with things that normally weren’t found in a classic household kit. Along with the standard fare of medications, it hosted a full array of emergency medical and trauma supplies, including: splints, bandages, a blood pressure monitor, stethoscope, cpr mask, airway supplies, extrication collar, and gloves. This definitely wasn’t Sharon’s first rodeo. She thought about responding: saying something cheeky or snarky, but her head fell back against the top of the toilet and the world went dark.

“Sharon - “ Mobius was definitely panicking now. A little. He wouldn’t outwardly show it though, because that wouldn’t help matters (and did it make a difference anyway? She was out cold). No, he just stuck to the task at hand which was getting the bleeding to stop - she was still breathing, she was just going into shock; he knew that much, at least.

Though the bright spot was that she had a whole medical supply store in here. Cripes.

He hoisted her limp limps up and laid her down, keeping her warm enough while he stopped her from bleeding out; once her blood pressure was raised a little he’d feel better. It was honestly the first time he’d ever stitched someone shut in their bathroom but he didn’t have much of a choice now - just used a steady hand to cut the suture thread and sterilize the needle, remembering how to sew at all even if it had been awhile.

The bathroom was kind of a mess when he was done (not to mention the blood trail on the floor leading in here) but Sharon was alive, just a little pale - stitched up like a kipper, as the saying went. He carried her upstairs to her room, feeling heavy as a bag of bricks and exhausted. She’d enter a full state of consciousness eventually (before she was kind of in and out) - and he figured she’d want to be in her own bed when she did, comfortable. And once he’d cleaned up downstairs to get everything spic and span, he crawled into bed with her - just laying there with an arm across his eyes and feeling his head pound like a war drum.

It was pretty much a miracle that she stayed out cold the entire time he was stitching her up. Stitches, cleaning, bandages, and then she was carried to bed. Her clothes were torn and cut away, and the blood was already beginning to dry. The sheets might have been ruined, but they were replaceable.

Once her wounds were addressed, and she was settled, warm, cozy in her bed, things calmed down for her body. After an unknown amount of time, she finally roused. Her wounds, though they were addressed and dressed, were in a considerable amount of pain. She gave a gentle groan and turned her head against the pillow. “...Mobius?” She breathed, wincing at the pain in her leg, the pain on her ribs. “...what… where...?” Everything seemed confused. Muddled. She thought she remembered walking to the bathroom.

Mobius wasn’t asleep, he was just resting his eyes - and, literally, for a guy who lived and breathed time, he had no idea what the hour actually was. It felt late, that was all. But he shot to full alertness when Sharon stirred next to him, and he sat up to pull the covers back on his side of the bed. “Try not to move,” he encouraged gently. “I’ll get you something for the pain.”

He’d raid her medicinal candy store - though he was sure that ibuprofen was a bad idea; made blood harder to clot, and the last thing she needed was for her wounds to start bleeding - he’d stitched and bandaged them best he could, but she’d still lost a lot of blood. More than Mobius anticipated for this trip to Madripoor.

Extra strength Tylenol it was - he brought her that with a glass of water. Plus an ice pack from downstairs too - gently, he pressed it to the spot on her ribs where he’d sewed her shut. “You know I can’t just - not say anything, right?”

Not to other people. But to her. He was about to let loose a whole riptide of concern.

Sharon gladly took the medicine. There was some really strong stuff in her cabinet, too--stuff she'd likely get into later on-- stuff one should really only take under a doctor's watchful eye. This was definitely not Sharon's first rodeo.

She bucked gently and gasped at the feel of the ice pack against her wound. It was going to help, though, so she didn't complain.

"I know," she sighed. "Before you start, I'm very sorry about all this. I never meant… you know." She waved a hand in the air.

Maybe he should just let it go. But how could he, honestly? Sharon had come pretty close to meeting the maker - and if Mobius hadn’t been here, what would have happened? She couldn’t stitch up her own wounds, not if she has already half-dead and passed out, swallowed by an abyss of pain. Would she have gone to a doctor? The hospital? Somehow he didn’t think so.

“Look - “ he started, trying to figure out how to put this. It wasn’t his business - but then again, wasn’t it? If he didn’t look out for Sharon, who would? She’d lost her friends, her allies, had been betrayed by them - which was why she was even in this situation in the first place. Mobius was also the only one who knew she held the title of Power Broker; if he just let everything slide, that was on him. And if something happened to her, if a bullet slammed into her and she wasn’t lucky enough to walk away from that, the guilt would consume him. “I know what kind of world we live in - violence is never going to stop. There will always be ‘heroes’ and I’m not saying you need to be one of them. Not again, not after all of that shit screwed you over. But this - “ he motioned to her general state of injury. “You have to give this part up. Please.”

Not her empire, or everything she’d built, fine - Sharon could continue to operate in between various shades of grey. That was the way the world worked anyway - it wasn’t always going to be black or white, good or bad. But getting to a point where she backed off from the imminent danger because of new ties she’d formed would mean making some changes.

The painful pulse just around her ribcage where she had that nasty gash (sewn up now, but she was only vaguely aware of that fact) was starting to ebb. The chill of the ice pack was doing its job, apparently. Though the extra strength tylenol wasn’t kicking in fast enough. And Sharon couldn’t even think about moving her leg. Hopefully the bleeding stopped. She was incredibly lucky that bullet wasn’t a couple inches in a different direction, she might have a shattered femur. Then she’d be in serious trouble.

She was weak and tired. And, surprisingly, hungry. “Mobius,” Sharon sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Her voice was matter-of-fact, though his words were sinking in. Giving her pause. “You knew what you were getting into when we started this,” her hand gently motioned between them. Whatever it was. Friends with benefits? Romantic entanglement? Something more? “Danger… violence… force… injury... it’s all part of my job. It’s what I do. You just happened to be here on a night when I made a little mistake.”

Besides, how could she back away from this? Without the Powerbroker acting as Madripoor’s boogeyman… Lowtown would fall into chaos. She was keeping the even worse crime lords at bay. Sometimes that meant brute force. Sometimes that meant she’d take a slash from some goon’s knife.

“And if I hadn’t been here, things would be a lot worse,” he insisted. “You’re only human, Sharon, you can’t - I mean, you were just shot.” Before this, when she was plopped onto the chessboard of He Who Remains - she’d arrived bleeding and if their luck continued to spiral down, she was going to go out bleeding too. And for what?

That was the part that worried Mobius. “I knew what I was getting into when we became involved but now I am involved, I’m pretty invested, which means I can’t just sit by and be okay with seeing you hurt.”

She was bitter. She felt used and abandoned. He got it, he really did - but it didn’t have to be like that anymore. She wasn’t alone anymore.

Sharon probably wasn’t as worried as she should have been. She had a house sitter who comes in in the mornings. She might not have died between her arrival home and the morning, and then she would have received medical help. There were several off-the-books medical care people who she trusted, who could help her. Where did he think the medications in her cabinet came from?

If she hadn’t been in so much pain, if she hadn’t been dealing with sharp stabs with each inhale, she might have noticed the clear note of concern in his voice. She might have been unselfish enough to recognize how scared he’d been, how much stress and anxiety the last couple of hours had been for him. But she was pained, and cranky, and struggling. She hated feeling like her body was attacking her, and just wanted that pain medication to kick in already. She thought maybe she needed something stronger.

“The last time definitely wasn’t my fault,” Sharon insisted. Fucking Karli Morgenthau. Super Soldier piece of shit. One of the worst mistakes Sharon had ever made was working with that garbage. At least Karli had been ended. Sharon closed her eyes and sighed, head resting back against the pillow. “I’m sorry Mobius. I really am.” She reached for his hand with her own, noticing that there was still dried blood all over her knuckles. She’d have to shower that off… later. Much later. “I never meant for you to get tangled up in all of this.”

Wasn’t her fault, right. “Did you take a bullet for an old lady?” Mobius asked sarcastically - they both knew the answer was no. Clearly Sharon hadn’t pulled the trigger on her own self but the situation was a little more nuanced than that and she ought to accept some responsibility. Anyway, wasn’t the point right now.

He squeezed her hand gently, the sight of the dried blood making him wince - he’d seen way more of Sharon’s blood in the past few hours than he needed to. Meaning that it was outside her body and he’d much prefer that it was in where it was supposed to be. “I know you didn’t mean to but I am tangled up in it,” he reminded. “Will you just think about it? Even mob bosses can retire, Sharon - they get other guys to run their rackets. I don’t care about anyone else. I just care about you.”

Wasn’t like she could just pick up and move to an uncharted island or something - he knew things were too intricately woven for that, but there had to be a way. A way to keep her out of this kind of risk. “Let me get you something to eat, if you think you can keep it down,” he sighed. “And something else from your candy store.” Stronger painkillers, even if he felt awkward about picking out a forged prescription or whatever.

Sharon gave a little scoff. She had to remind herself that Mobius knew pretty much everything. She couldn't lie to him about her past, he had access to it. To all of it. Which made her both love and loathe the TVA. (Though, obviously nowhere near as much as he did.)

After a long pause, she finally nodded. "All right. I'll think about it." Maybe the Powerbroker title could be like the Dred Pirate Roberts. Passed along from person to person, keeping Madripoor safe from the really bad guys. Sharon would have to consider carefully who to trust, who to pass the mantle to... that is, if she could. She squeezed his hand in return. "I care about you, too." Like, a lot a lot.

"There are Vicodin in a blue bottle in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom next to the kitchen," she offered, releasing his hand to shift herself against the pillow. She winced as pain shot through her chest and her thigh.

“Okay - “ He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get them, just rest here.” Mobius slunk off the bed and went to situate things - he found the Vicodin (the heavy duty stuff - sure, the painkillers made you forget you were actually in pain but they also ensured you forgot your own name, your address, and that you had things to do) and also heated up soup for Sharon. Nothing too heavy, but actual food in her stomach would probably be ideal - and he managed to find a can of something in one of the cabinets in her ritzy kitchen.

Then he was back in the bedroom, expertly balancing everything. “No rush to get back to the Tower - but I’m going to see if Loki can come here and heal you,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed again. “At least a little bit.” If she severely objected to that he’d call whatever doctor she wanted to take a proper look at her - probably would do that regardless. He was an analyst, a psychology and history guy - not a medical professional.

It was probably a bad idea for Sharon to grab her phone off the bedside table, right? Look at her messages, check in on things. She was a workaholic, right? But when she reached for the phone, she accidentally knocked it to the floor. ...damnit. There was no getting it now. She leaned back against the pillow, stared up at the ceiling, and remembered that less than twenty-four hours ago, she and Mobius didn’t make it to the bed. Now she felt awful for what she’d just put him through.

She looked over as he came back into the room, expertly balancing all of the goodies. “...Loki? He can do that?” She asked, her brow furrowing. She’d take it--anything to get rid of the pain, to speed up the healing, to not have to lie to Bruce about what she’d been doing in Madripoor.

“I think he knows a few spells. I’ll send him a message,” Mobius replied, noticing that Sharon’s phone had met the floor and oh, he eyebrow-arched. Hard. He also wasn’t giving that phone back for a little while, planning to keep it for a bit when he scooped it up - because she needed to rest.

He started with the recommended dosage of Vicodin, following instructions on the bottle to the letter and handed over the pill. “Just take it easy for a bit - things will be fine,” he added, quietly and softly accented - he had to believe that anyway. Because Sharon promised she’d think about stepping back from the more dangerous aspects of managing a criminal empire - and he was going to hold her to that.

Probably after the painkillers knocked her out cold, but it would still happen. She was too important to him for it not to.

“All right.” She trusted him. If he thought Loki could help? ...well, stranger things had happened, hadn’t they?

Sharon was actually pretty excited about the soup when it came in. She had to force herself up a little against the pillow, wincing and cringing as she moved, but managed to get upright. She took the soup and sipped from the spoon, then swallowed down the pill with a mouthful of chicken and stars. She only got part-way through the soup before she set the bowl aside. It was time for her to sleep. Rest. And let Mobius take care of her.