Disclaimer: I don't own MARVEL or the characters used in this story. No copyright is intended, and any resemblance to other fanfictions is purely coincidental.
The history books all made her out to be the perfect soldier. They made her out to be a symbol of purity and freedom. But if you asked Stevie, she'd tell you the history books lie. Because, after all, Captain America is just an image.
Everyone in the tower treats her like she's made of fragile glass, that if the most subtle sexual innuendo would break her.
Part of her wants to punch them (because they seem to think that's her way out of everything), and the other half wants to laugh in their faces and tell them that they had sex in the forties. It just wasn't as openly discussed.
But she doesn't do either of those. Instead, she forces a smile and turns into who they want her to be. She spends her time on missions, and when she's not blowing up other small countries with Natasha, Stevie resides to drawing. She'll lock herself in her room and pull out her little old sketchbook, the one Bucky had spent all his money to get her for her birthday. (She had no idea how SHIELD had managed to recover it, but she was thankful they did.)
Bucky was the most common person in her book. She had sketched him sleeping, dancing with other women. She had drawn one from when Bucky had danced with her, before he had (drunkenly, mind you) stolen her first kiss. He hadn't even been able to remember it the following morning, so Stevie had let it slide.
Stevie knew that SHIELD slightly underestimated her. Whatever, she knew the day would come when she would be able to show off just what she was made of, and then SHIELD would think twice before fucking with her.
But until that day, Stevie would play along. She'd play their game and she'd learn their secrets. And if they ever tried to own her, she'd expose them. She'd burn SHIELD to the ground if she had to.
That's Stevie's life now, and she's very content with it.
(And then HYDRA happens...)