I

Amnesia

Everything hurt.

Sharon Carter wasn't surprised.

"If anything, this last mission only proves me right in that whoever is in charge of the Special Ops Department needs to step up the training regimen if they expect the agents to keep up with the Avengers," Doctor Sanderson said, smugness evident in his tone as he scanned down her chart. "That or stop putting you all together, that would be even more preferable." As usual, his words lacked any bite.

Sharon put it down to the painkillers that she was on as the reason she couldn't remember what to say next, the next line in the script. All she did was turn her head to stare blearily at him.

Or maybe it was in the script after all; Sanderson just sighed when she looked at him, made another notation on his clipboard, and then said, "On the plus side, you'll live. On the down side, not only will you have to stay here in the medical ward for a week, but I'll have to sideline you for at least two weeks after that."

Sharon frowned.

She should probably be concerned with the fact that Sanderson had become fluent in her facial expressions since it hurt too much for her to talk. "If this had been an ordinary bullet wound, you would be up and about sooner, yes, but, A.I.M. seemed interested in testing weapons that spit shrapnel, so you'll be in here longer so that I can ensure that you do not have infections from surgery or anything of the like," he said, tucking the clipboard underneath his arm so he could study her charts.

What happened to me? Do you remember?

Sanderson quietly regarded her puzzled expression, and then said, "You don't remember how you got here, don't you?"

She managed a very weak shake of the head.

Sighing, Sanderson said, "I don't know either, just that a mission had gone wrong… I'll talk to the team leader before I release him, and tell you then if you still want to know." Shaking his head, he put the charts back and then looked down at her. "The buzzer hasn't moved in the six weeks since your last visit, Agent Thirteen, so I trust you know what to do," he said. "I'll have Mary come by with morphine in a little while, just in case you need it. I'll also leave a memo for Phil that you're in here so the two of you can do your little plotting or whatever it is that you two do when you visit each other down here," he added over his shoulder before leaving the hospital room.

Sharon relaxed, figuring that she could wait the extra ten to fifteen minutes it would take Coulson to come down here. The sad thing was that she had his schedule memorized by this point, which was fine because he had hers down too. They'd unofficially worked out a little system so that the other wouldn't be completely alone during the hospital stay. Sanderson knew this; he knew that despite busy schedules, it was always nice to know that there was at least one other friend who cared about the patient. Sanderson saw it all the time in the med bay; if no one came, he'd come himself. Besides, Sharon had things to tell Coulson, about the mission. Coulson always –

Oh, wait.

Coulson was dead.

Sharon didn't cry out, she couldn't. Instead, she felt her body sag in the hospital bed a little as a sort of numbness spread to her heart. Coulson was dead, six feet under, in a private cemetery in his hometown at the request of his remaining family.

That… was a pretty big thing to forget.

At least she didn't say anything aloud, that would have just been awkward.

She wondered when, if at all, Sanderson would spare a moment to come by. Maybe since he'd forgotten as well, he wouldn't come after all.

All right then…

She must have drifted off at that point, because when she came back to awareness, her skin burning as she recognized the vague outline of Sanderson hovering over her. His mouth was moving as he shooed away a nurse nearby and smacked someone else's hand away from his precious clipboard. She watched as he silently rattled off orders before he turned back to her, mouth moving noiselessly. She frowned slightly, not understanding, and Sanderson reached over toward the back of her neck and she felt something sharp prick her skin and her world disappeared again.

Sharon didn't wake up until what she estimated was several hours later, the heat under her skin still there but significantly reduced. Fever, infection, her still somewhat muddled brain supplied helpfully.

She glanced over at the clock, which read '12:30' in glowing green numbers. Coulson would probably –

Stop.

She really had to remember that he was gone now.

This was going to be the longest week ever.

As her senses slowly adjusted to her surroundings, she blearily turned, and frowned when she spotted a vague outline on the chair next to the bed. Her hand involuntarily twitched as though to reach for the buzzer to call in a nurse – she hated being helpless when a potential enemy was right there – when she became aware that warm skin surrounded her own, skin that wasn't hers.

The person on the chair must have been either dozing or was accustomed at reacting to even the smallest of movements, because he was moving as soon as the thought to reach the buzzer crossed her mind.

"Easy, don't panic, it's just me," a soft, familiar male voice said through the darkness. It took Sharon a few moments to place it.

Captain America?

She suddenly remembered that he'd been there in the assault against A.I.M., the one that had landed her here. Frowning, she watched as he leaned forward, her eyes finally picking out his features from the darkness. Despite the earlier assurance, he seemed guarded, and she could only wonder at what happened to cause this.

"Sharon," he said finally, hesitantly, "Do you remember anything from the mission?"

Did she? "A…A I M…" she croaked out, her throat hurting from the lack of use.

"That's right," he said in a placating manner, squeezing her hand comfortingly (why was he treating her so familiarly?). "What else?"

What else did she remember? She just raised an eyebrow at him, wishing she could speak more than a couple words in order ascertain the full situation, including as to why he was treating her like one would treat a close friend or girlfriend. There wasn't any of that detached professionalism that usually occurred between a subordinate (her, unfortunately) and a superior (obviously him, rank trumps all).

She wasn't ready to admit defeat quite yet, but his eyes told her that she was still missing quite a lot. Okay then, time to try again.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Of course she did. "Cap…Captain America?" she hedged, remembering the few photographs from her childhood and the countless discussions with Coulson.

Something that seemed a mixture of relief and disappointment crossed his eyes. Damn it, what am I missing? She thought desperately as the captain leaned back again, but not so much that she couldn't see him.

"You were with us, your squad had stumbled across an A.I.M. cell two days ago, and then Sergeant Willis called in for backup, and we came. We got separated, so I didn't see what happened, but Willis says that you accidentally caught most of the blast from the experimental weapon A.I.M. had, and you hit your head before losing consciousness," he said finally, and she got the distinct impression that he was staring out the window as he spoke. "You woke up several times as the doctors treated you, and Sanderson said you were fine when the two of you talked earlier. Then he found that you had a fever from an unexpected infection, and had to put you under again. You've scared me no less than eight times in the last twelve hours, but then again, you do that on a regular basis."

He turned to look back at her, and she was pretty sure she was frowning at him. Offering a sad little half smile, he said, "It's something we've argued about in the past, the level of risk you take in your missions, but I was getting comfortable with the idea of you out on the field until this happened."

She stared at him, her mind slowly piecing everything together. She wished she could speak and ask him more about what she was forgetting, but found that it still hurt to talk. She felt confused, achy, and worst of all, a little afraid.

He squeezed her hand again, whether to comfort himself or her, she didn't know, but she surprisingly appreciated the gesture. He started to retract his hand, as though to leave the room or move from his spot, but her hand snaked out and grasped his back in her own. Her fingers tightened as though asking him to stay.

She may not remember his given name, but she sure as hell didn't want to be alone… and she couldn't explain why, but she felt that it was important that he was here.

He seemed to understand that, and her heart lifted at the smile that flitted across his face.

A/N: First prompt was 'hands'. This is a part of ericandy's '30 Day OTP Challenge' on Tumblr. This will be part of the movie continuity, and will be updated daily. Captain America, Avengers, and all related media belong to Marvel.