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gameofcards

It feels markedly odd, sitting on a piano bench in such casual clothing.

Sharon usually reserves her displays of such talents for more formal occasions, but she's long since learned that nothing remains usual in an agent's life for long.

Not that anything had ever been usual in her life.

One of her slippers starts slipping off her foot as soon as she presses down onto a pedal, and she fumbles a few notes trying to keep it in place. At least, in Steve Rogers' living room, no one's about to laugh at her for something so small unless she laughs first; he probably can't even hear her right now, busy enough tucking the exhausted Natasha into bed.

Wait, so why is she still playing? She'd been playing for them, she remembers - Nat had goaded her into it.

The sound stops more aggressively than she expects when she drops her hands from the keys.

"A woman of many talents," Steve suddenly appears at the edge of the hallway leading off the living room down to the smaller rooms of the apartment, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest and one of the tee shirts he only owns because apparently men's clothing sizes were different in the forties.

"Captain Rogers, are you flirting with me again?" she teasingly scolds.

"No, no," he replies in a similar tone, but his head drops. Steve probably doesn't realize it, but that's his tell. She'll keep that information to herself, for now.

"Just making an observation, neighbor."

"You can call me Sharon, you know. Agent Carter if you really need to keep it formal."

"I'm not gonna call you Agent Carter," he says, failing to keep his expression between embarrassed, neutral, and horny.

She knows how it is (and how to play it - not that she's playing particularly hard...it's just a habit.)

"Sorry. I should stop suggesting it."

"It's not like everyone else will stop saying it. I'm gonna hear it anyway."

"Well, believe it or not, kind sir, I would prefer you regularly referring to me by some applicable name. You're having me over for dinner with you and your girlfriend, I think you can-"

"She's not - why does everyone think Natasha's my girlfriend?" he sighs frustratedly, and despite his wording he's clearly more concerned about her thoughts on the matter than someone else's. She cocks an eyebrow.

"I think that's a question you need to be asking yourself, Captain."

He takes the answer how she gives it - he doesn't even scoff at her tone.

That's America's most jet-lagged superhero ever for ya.

"It was just...the way Steve was," she remembers her aunt telling her wistfully, proudly, sadly. Well, he was nothing if not consistent.

"Okay, then. Next question," he says after a moment - now his tone is more neutral, almost teasing. Hmm.

"How'd you get so good at that?"

"At...the piano?"

He nods. "My mom tried teaching me when I was a kid. I never managed to learn more than a couple scales."

"Just...a shitton of practice, I guess. Oh, shoot, sorry, I forgot I'm not supposed to -"

Steve groans. "One of these days I'm going to get around to shooting him for that."

God, he could take things so seriously sometimes. Unfortunately, that wasn't something Aunt Peggy had told her about - and Sharon was confident she knew why.

"Could be worse," she says, and her voice comes out more solemn than she'd like it to. "It's not exactly easy being the niece of SHIELD's founder, even discounting anything else she did with her life. Well, I guess that's not worse, I don't mean to minimize -"

"You're not. I'm well aware the language joke is a minor deal compared to anything else I've been dealing with. It's just...it's another reminder that I don't belong here, you know? Every time I think I'm getting the hang of the 21st century something comes along to bite me in the ass."

She lets the silence linger - they both need it. By the time she decides it might be a good idea to say something, though, she doesn't know what to say.