Re: log, Manhattan: Sharon C/Steve R
The aluminum door did not bang closed, though Steve expected it to—he hunched his shoulders by reflex, anticipating the sound. But, it didn't come; it was too new, too well-made. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't deal in loose hinges, in the ill-fit of the Depression-era. It clicked closed, and Steve glanced back. The heat of the moment, trapped like a soap bubble in time, lingered in the high-color of the man's face, and it took a moment for him to parse through rush of blood. When he did, he realized some of that heat was the fire of fever—was the high tide of infection, emanating from Sharon herself.
Steve moved to say something, opened his mouth as they passed the agents, and then that bowing bubble popped in a spray of glycerin and light refraction—as Sharon turned to run back toward him.
The man out of time stood on the last of the erected steps, staring down the barrel of Agent Thirteen's handgun. Her face was streaked white, bloodless, and caught in a still, a rictus of horror and disbelief. Steve understood in the instantaneous snap of synapses what she was seeing. Him. Dead. The leverage of her apologies, screamed, meant for congealed blood and a bullet to the abdomen, only confirmed it.
The black buzzards surrounded the both of them, badges shining under harsh light.
It all transpired in a second.
Steve raised his shield above his head, bullrushing Sharon where she stood with her gun drawn. He came at her fast and low, ducked forward, and scooped her up—hard, the shell of her hip crushing into the bone of his shoulder as she was held with the circle of one arm.
He wasn't going to wait for someone to subdue her. And there was no time for him to try to assure her he was as alive as he said he was. So he did what he had to do to get her out of there.
Any agents stupid enough not to jump out of his way, anyone reaching for him as he past, was met with a bash of shield to face (not hard enough to kill, just hard enough to knock them flat on their ass), as Steve crossed the hot tarmac to the waiting squad of cars, going full-tilt. The door was already open on one of the sleek, black vehicles, and it was pulling out, even as he rushed up beside it and tossed Sharon, as gently as one can toss a woman, in side.
"Get her weapons!" He ordered one of the agents, just as he managed to catch a foothold, fingers wrenching around the frame of the door as they sped away with a squeal of tires. "And go to Stark Tower!"