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[Four weeks have passed; leisurely, pleasantly, wonderfully passed. Nights filled with moans, sighs, gasps, and lips; days filled with laughs, sighs, smiles, and caresses. Sharon can't imagine being happier than right now and right here as Steve's wife in the White House. The meeting with the British Prime Minister goes smoothly, and Sharon is there by Steve's side as she meets him with a wide grin. The charity dinner for the Veterans of Foreign Wars goes off without a hitch, and Steve is there by her side as Sharon basks in the glory. Waking up in the morning in his arms with soft words of love and endearments, gently drifting to sleep with him still in her, soft touches when no one's looking, stolen kisses behind the rose bushes; you make her feel like a schoolgirl, Steve.

Things are perfect.

Amidst cries of protest and confusion, Sharon enters the Oval Office, a mob of flustered aides and assistants behind her suddenly quieting at the sight of President Steve Rogers with some members of his cabinet.]

I need to talk to you. [Arms at akimbo, jaw clenched, eyes cold and hard, and voice rigid, she's either unaware of the meeting or she doesn't care. Survey says, it's the latter; Sharon's so blind with rage and her brain filled to the brim with anger that she just doesn't care.]

Now.

*

through a glass, darkly {closed to notyourgerbil}

pana po'o {closed to notyourgerbil}