The SHIELD agent offered to drive the Captain home, but he politely declined.
Steve was in a wretched mood; he just wanted to be alone. He walked the streets of New York in his tactical suit. Fortunately, it was late at night; otherwise, given his current fame, he would have been swarmed by fans. The museum and his apartment were both in Brooklyn, and after a ninety-minute walk, he finally reached his building. With a heavy heart and leaden steps, it took him a full ten minutes to trudge up to the top floor. He hadn't brought his keys, so he dug the spare out of the flowerbed by the door.
Creak—
"Steve!"
Just as Steve opened the door, a voice called out behind him.
"It's just me. You're not asleep yet?" Recognizing Sharon's voice, Steve didn't want to worry her. He turned and greeted her with his usual gentle tone.
"Are you... okay?"
Sharon was a woman and a secret SHIELD agent; her intuition and observation skills were leagues beyond the average person. With a single glance, she saw through the forced smile and detected the deep sorrow buried in his heart.
"I'm fine. Get back to sleep; you have work tomorrow," Steve said, his lips curling upward in an attempt to look normal.
"Tomorrow is my day off." Sharon stepped out of her doorway wearing thin pajamas. "Steve, I'm a professional nurse. Reading a patient's emotions is a basic skill."
At those words, the smile on Steve's face vanished. His expression and entire aura slumped into dejection.
"It's nothing. I'll be fine after some sleep." His old-fashioned masculinity made him reluctant to show weakness in front of a woman.
"You can talk to me. Don't bottle it up. Aunt Peggy always loved chatting with me," Sharon said, refusing to let him off the hook, even bringing up her aunt to tip the scales.
Steve looked at her intently and swallowed hard. Finally, he let her in.
"Have a seat. What do you want to drink? There's milk, coffee, orange juice in the fridge..."
"You sit down. I'll get it myself!" Sharon was considerate; she pushed Steve onto the sofa and wouldn't let him lift a finger.
"Alright," Steve relented, feeling too drained to move anyway.
"What should we have?" Sharon tilted her head, thinking as she stood by the fridge. "Got it!"
A moment later, she brought a crate of various liquors to the coffee table. It was a complete set: whiskey, vodka, rum, gin, tequila...
"This is..." Steve was taken aback.
"When things are hard, drinking is the best remedy. I rely on alcohol to de-stress from work, too," Sharon said, providing him with a convenient excuse.
Drinking? Steve wanted to refuse, but looking at the amber liquid in the bottles, his heart suddenly wanted to cut loose. He nodded in agreement.
"Go wash up and change first. Nobody drinks in a tactical suit."
Sharon flashed a bright smile and ran back to the fridge for ice, juice, and glasses, grabbing a few sodas and beers while she was at it. Compared to straight spirits, she preferred cocktails and had specifically learned a few recipes.
Ten minutes later, Steve emerged from his room in comfortable loungewear. The table was already set with drinks.
"Have a seat. I'm your bartender today; order whatever you like." Sharon's smile was incredibly healing.
"Anything is fine," Steve said, drying his damp hair with a towel. "I didn't know you were such an expert on alcohol."
"I don't have time for bars, so I drink alone at home. Over time, I became self-taught."
As she spoke, Sharon began mixing. She poured rum into a glass, added two-thirds Coca-Cola, a few drops of lime juice, and finished it with a lemon slice and ice.
"A Cuba Libre! Try it!" She pushed the glass toward him.
Steve took a small sip. "Mm! Not bad. Very authentic."
Delighted by the compliment, Sharon downed her own drink in one go. Seeing this, Steve felt obligated to finish his as well. Sharon immediately began the second round. She was aiming to drink until they hit a blackout state because she knew Steve had a wall around his heart. Even though he was adapting to modern life, he was a man from seventy years ago. His old friends were dead; the only one he could truly open up to was Peggy Carter. But given Peggy's health, there were many things he couldn't tell her for fear of causing her stress.
Today, Sharon intended to stand in for her aunt and soothe his anxious soul. To do that, she had to get him drunk enough to lower his guard.
The two didn't speak, simply matching each other glass for glass. Sharon was a natural; by the seventeenth round, they hadn't repeated a single drink. As the eighteenth glass went down, their faces were flushed. It seemed even a super soldier couldn't fully resist the assault of pure alcohol.
Sharon slowed her pace, her voice turning soft. "Tonight's mission... it didn't go well, did it?"
Steve opened his mouth, unsure if he should speak.
"It's okay," Sharon reassured him. "I won't leak anything. Fury doesn't even hide his conversations with my aunt from me."
That was the reassurance he needed. Steve finally opened the floodgates.
"It wasn't just 'not well.' It was an absolute disaster."
"That bastard... he was killing people in the museum... By the time we arrived, it was all over. Just bodies and blood everywhere..."
"You know... the blood pooled into a river that went over my ankles. I'm not some naive kid; I've seen things... but even in the Nazi camps, I never saw a scene like that..."
Sharon listened intently, pushing another glass toward him. Steve downed his nineteenth drink and gripped the glass tightly.
"And then we fought... that monster can get stronger by devouring humans. Two weeks ago, I could have ended him in one move... but now, he's stronger than I am..."
"I was on the defensive for minutes... Then he realized SHIELD had called in backup and tried to run. The agents surrounded him... and then he used some kind of magic. One move... just one move... and countless spikes erupted from the ground, skewering those agents like pins in a cushion..."
"Minutes before, we were talking... and in a heartbeat, they were all dead. That bastard just walked away arrogantly, and I could do nothing but watch..."
Sharon remained a quiet listener until Steve grabbed a bottle and began chugging, too pained to speak another word.
"Steve, it's not your fault. You did your best."
A bottle of whiskey hit the bottom. Steve's eyes were bloodshot. "I know that, but... they call me Captain... yet I couldn't save them. I can't even get revenge for them..."
"I've been thinking lately... maybe I just don't belong in this era. I'm just the guy from seventy years ago. I should have stayed buried in the ice... to remain a legend forever..."
For a man of iron will to utter such self-defeating words, the psychological blow must have been unimaginable. The title Captain America was more a responsibility than an honor. Steve was a good man to a fault, always taking the weight of the world onto himself. When results turned tragic, the searing guilt and remorse would torture him.
Sharon stood up and sat beside him, gripping his hand firmly.
"I don't know what the future holds, but I believe an era with Captain America is better than one without. No matter the outcome of this war, I will stand by you. I've been a fan of yours for over a decade, you know."
Steve was drunk. He moved his hand from his face and looked into Sharon's eyes with deep emotion. "Thank you."
Sharon smiled, swaying slightly with a shy tilt of her head. "It's okay. If you're ever feeling down, you can always find me to drink."
Steve finally smiled, looking at her intently. "When you smile... you're just as beautiful as Peggy."
"Is that so..." Sharon's face was bright red. "Auntie says that often... mmm..."
In the quiet apartment, two lonely hearts finally drew close together.
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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
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