AUTHOR'S NOTE:

In this chapter, Steve and Sharon visit the van Gogh museum, and those familiar with the artist know there is going to be a discussion of depression, suicide, PTSD and syphilis. If these are triggering things for you, you might want to skip ahead.

Bobbi and Hunter returned later that week, saying very little about whatever mission they had been on, other than it had been a partial success and a partial failure. Steve couldn't help but notice how Sharon, Natasha, and Clint had only just nodded and said nothing in response. Spies, he sighed. He wondered if he would ever get used to them. Sharon was quite thrilled to see Bobbi and Hunter, and greeted them both enthusiastically. Bobbi didn't seem to have much interest in learning to knit or crochet, but she joined the other women in the corner of the living room for lively discussions that went on for hours. At least it seem to be doing Wanda good. She was actually coming out of her shell a bit, although an air of melancholy still hung over her.

The days at the Amsterdam house had fallen into a sort of pattern. Everyone would wake up, take turns making breakfast, clean the kitchen and then go about whatever activities they had planned for themselves that day. That mostly involved working out all morning for everyone, for they were all in prime physical condition and their lack of current employment did not mean they had no desire to keep their skills up. There were plenty of opportunities for sparring and working out jointly, and Steve finally got to witness the level of Sharon's skills when she matched up against Natasha or Bobbi in the ring. They started teaching Wanda some of what they knew, and Wanda seemed to enjoy learning physical self-defense. In the afternoons, they usually allowed some time for hobbies, which involved playing video games for Sam and Scott and occasionally Clint, but Steve was missing anything to do until Sharon had asked him if he was still working on any artwork. The truth was, Steve hadn't thought about art in a long time, but after Sharon mentioned it, he found some pencils and sheets of paper and started making rudimentary sketches of the views from the windows of the house. Evenings are usually spent sharing cooking duties and talking, watching TV, or some other activity. They manage to stay busy, but the truth was they were all getting cabin fever. Steve hoped it would be soon when they were able to wander outside of the house and maybe at least tour the city. He had never been to Amsterdam before, and it was a city ripe with history, especially art history.

They were all still hesitant about stepping out the door of the house, however, given that their names and faces were still plastered all over every international news organization, most of them warning that they were super powered people who had gone rogue and should be considered armed and dangerous and avoided at all cost. This smudge on the image of Captain America bothered Steve, they all knew, even though he didn't say much about it. The sheer lies and speculation being thrown around by unqualified analysts who simply needed to talk to fill air time was extremely infuriating, given that they had no means of defending themselves in the eyes of the public. Steve had taken to drawing political cartoons, depicting their side of the story, which Scott had mentioned in passing he should think about putting up on the Internet anonymously and running web comic. Steve had seemed interested, the had put it on a mental back burner for later.

By the end of that week, Clint and Scott could not be put off any longer returning to their families. Natasha offered to take them so she could at least visit with Laura and the kids, but Clint advised against it. Her status as an American citizen was still in question, and if she were caught, her consequences might not include the right to a lawyer or a speedy trial. The same went for Wanda. In the end, Hunter offered to take them in the cloaked car, since neither he nor Bobbi were wanted fugitives, and no one would be looking for him. Steve had agreed, and that decided, their final night altogether, they had cooked a large meal with enough desserts to feed an army, and had spent the evening in a somewhat jocular mood, even though the undercurrent of sadness still lingered in the air, knowing that they would be leaving the next day.

The next morning, everyone said their goodbyes, and Hunter lead Clint and Scott down to the motor pool. They all gathered in the garage and waved as the car departed, heading for the North Sea, where they would cloak and fly across Scandinavia, Greenland, Iceland, and then come down through Canada to Clint's farm. Hunter with then drop off Scott in San Francisco, and then return. Given that the flying car was not an intercontinental jet, it would take several days, probably a week before he would return. Bobbi was nervous, especially since he would be by himself for the return trip, but it was really the best solution.

Steve gave each of them one of the kimoyo beads that Shuri had given them before they left Wakanda. He demonstrated how to use it, and advised them to keep it where the authorities would not be able to find it.

"If you ever need to call..." he had said. The other two men had simply nodded, and he had given them both hugs. He knew Clint would not call unless it was an emergency. He hoped the same would be true of Scott. Another area that gave Steve a lot of cause for overthinking was Sharon. She still flirted with him on occasion, but aside from the day they had spent together the day of Peggy's funeral, and the kiss under the bridge, she was not giving much indication that she was any more than just interested in him. He would occasionally catch her looking at him, as she would occasionally catch him looking at her, which resulted in both of them looking away quickly, pretending it hadn't happened. But Steve honestly did not know what to do. He had very little experience in this area, even his experiences with Peggy were extremely limited, given that they really had not spent nearly as much time together as he had already spent with Sharon, and it had been during a war.

He wasn't sure what there was between them, he only knew that it was getting harder and harder to hold himself back from simply pulling her to him and kissing her senseless. Only the knowledge that she had not given him any kind of sign that she even wanted him to do that, even the kiss under the bridge had been one that he initiated, not her, was what held him back. Still, he wanted to be near her, constantly, even if it meant just being in the same room listening to her from across the way. He loved the sound of her voice, especially her laugh, and he especially liked it when it was her turn in the kitchen and she didn't think anyone was nearby. She often hummed to herself, and she had a sweet voice. The sound caused a warm feeling to surround his heart, when lately it has been strained and cold. But he knew the absolute worst thing he could do was rush her. She had to be reeling from the loss of Peggy, since she really had not had much of a chance to mourn. She had just lost her job because of him. Again. And the entire world she had built for herself because of him. Again. And while she did not seem angry at him about it, that certainly did not mean that she was returning any romantic thoughts that he might have.

On top of all that, he knew that Peggy would be a major elephant in the room for the both of them. He had to admit, the thought of dating Peggy's great niece, if it ever came to that, was a little strange. But he had no idea what it would mean for her. She didn't seem completely turned off by the thought, but he knew that at some point they were going to have to have a very deep, very private conversation about anything that did or might exist between them. And he felt himself getting impatient. The nights were the worst. Not that his bed was uncomfortable, nor the room, but he would often toss and turn for several hours, listening to Sharon do the same on the other side of the hall. He almost envied the others, including Natasha, and their ability to seemingly just drop right off to sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. He knew his own reason for restlessness was due to the stress of the situation, but his growing frustration over Sharon. But he wondered, what was her reason for sleeplessness? He didn't dare to think that she might be feeling the same way, that she tossed and turned in her own bed thinking about him. Did she?

After they had been cooped up in the house for a little over a month, Sharon suggested that it was probably finally time for them to venture out and test how well all their disguises would work. Given that they were living in a safe house meant for spies, there was no shortage of stuff to disguise themselves with. Nat had already dyed her hair blonde, which had taken a little getting used to. But Wanda preferred to twist her hair up on top of her head and try out the variety of wigs that Sharon showed her. Sharon also enjoy trying to disguise herself to be as unrecognizable as possible, her favorite being a goth-ish look with a straight black hair wig and a variety of black and white clothes that hid her figure and a mountain of makeup.

Although it was ultimately a serious matter, it seemed as if the women enjoyed doing themselves and each other up in various disguises, and Bobbi began encouraging them all to consider stepping out of the house and going for walks to see how many stares they got or how likely they would be recognized. Nat and Wanda usually went for a stroll together, and Sharon and Bobbi would sometimes walk down to the park and back. Sam seems less interested a donning a disguise and heading out into the world, but he had struck up a friendship with Hunter who shared his love of video games, and the two often went a few streets over to a local game store to watch tournaments being played. Steve also went out, usually wrapped in a bulky coat with an oversized ugly hat and scarf wrapped around his face to keep from being recognized. He had decided to stop shaving and start growing a beard, figuring that he would be less likely to be recognized as such.

But it was actually Sharon who suggested that everyone consider spending Saturday out to combat cabin fever. They would all spend the day out in the city in various small groups doing something each of them wanted to do, and meet for dinner at a restaurant that was out-of-the-way and not very crowded later on. The knitters were out of yarn, so Bobbi, Natasha, and Wanda opted to head for a large crafting store on the other side of town. Hunter and Sam would go to a local park where a pick up soccer tournament was scheduled to be played. Steve had figured he would find some way to just take a walk and then return to the house, until Sharon suggested that the two of them visit the van Gogh Museum. Steve immediately perked up.

"You were an art student, weren't you?" Sharon asked him one afternoon as they were down in the workout area lifting weights.

"Before the war, yes. It was about the only thing that was really good at. If you hadn't been to business school, the only jobs that were really available in Brooklyn at the time were manual labor jobs, and I just lacked the physical strength and stamina to do most of what was hiring. I had a job as a kid though, working at the corner grocery store. Mostly just manning the register because I was good at it. Something I doubt I would be allowed to do today at 12 years old. I was a skinny asthmatic kid with a host of medical problems, but I could add pretty well. And there wasn't a lot of physical strength needed to work the cash machine."

"And you were honest to a fault, I imagine," said Sharon with a smile. "I guess that grocery store owner didn't have to worry about any bills going missing."

"Nope. And it was the Depression, so money was in short supply. Honestly, Mr. Carver, the owner, did a lot of bartering. If he needed something painted, he would trade groceries for the paint and labor. He didn't actually pay me money, either. He paid me in groceries. Given how tight everything was, and my mother didn't make much working at the hospital, sometimes that was the only way we had food on the table."

"I'm sorry," said Sharon quietly.

Steve shrugged. "We were no better or worse off than anyone else in the neighborhood. Bucky's father shuffled coal most of our lives, so sometimes I would trade him a couple of apples for some coal to heat up our apartment. That's how it was back then. Anyway, I didn't have much talent for shoveling coal, and the older I got, the harder it was to justify keeping me on at the grocery store without having me do some actual labor. But I had always like to draw. Then one day, Mr. Carver caught me drawing pictures of the interior of the store on some old beef wrapping paper. He was so impressed, that he asked me to draw a picture of his wife and family. He couldn't afford to have their portrait taken."

"And did you?" asked Sharon.

"Of course. And it came out pretty good if I do say so myself," he said with a smile. "He paid me in groceries, but that got me thinking that I might be able to do art for money. So I started saving my drawings, and presenting them to various places that might be willing to buy them. I actually got an occasional gig with the local newspaper drawling political cartoons. Or illustrating current events, since paying a photographer was kind of iffy even for a small newspaper. That was the first time I ever actually made any real money from it. And by real I mean a nickel or drawling. Then someone at the art school saw my work in the newspaper, and offered me a place in the starting classes."

"How did you afford it?" asked Sharon.

"Working a news stand," said Steve with a grimace. "Basically I was a glorified newsboy. I sold my drawings, tutored the director's kids. I managed to squeak by. I feel pretty guilty about it, because I knew we could use that money at home. But mom encouraged me. Especially once someone told her that artist could actually make money drawing cartoons for the newspaper. And by the time I was also illustrating the local church bulletins. So many of the old ladies at church were praising my work. Mom let it go. And I guess she figured if the art didn't work out, I could always be a news stand operator."

"Definitely a different era," said Sharon shaking her head.

"Oh I don't know," said Steve. "Some things are still the same. For example, you have kids pedaling stories and ideas on YouTube now instead of on the street corner. Only they're making a damn sight more money than any of us ever made selling newspapers."

Sharon laughed. "That's certainly true. Those kids make more money playing Minecraft then I do defending the United States of America against Russian spies."

"So how did you know I like van Gogh?" asked Steve."Was that part of your study of me?"

Sharon shrugged. "Actually I didn't. I had no idea if you would like van Gogh. But he's from the Netherlands, and the museum is here, and it seems like anyone who is interested in art would want to see his works in person. Was that wrong?"

"Not at all," said Steve. "I've always like van Gogh. He was certainly a fascinating character in history. And his works were so different for that era. It was the beginning of impressionism in the art world. I took a class on at when I was at art school."

"I studied him a bit when I was in college," said Sharon. "But from a psychological aspect. He was a walking text book of the various ways the human mind can break."

"Manic depressive, wasn't he?" asked Steve, putting his weights back on the rack.

"Honestly, they don't really know," said Sharon, putting her own weights back. "Bipolar disorder was certainly the most logical explanation. He could have also been schizophrenic, I believe one of his sisters was diagnosed later in life. And his brother Theo was known to be melancholy, which is an archaic way of saying 'depression.' An instructor of my psychology class actually thought he had some form of epilepsy. Only it wasn't the kind where you have seizures. I forget exactly what it's called, frontal or temporal lobe epilepsy I think, but it affects certain areas of the brain and change his personality, sometimes for weeks on end."

"Do you think that's what it was?" Asked Steve, taking a gulp from his water bottle.

"No, I think he had untreated syphilis," said Sharon.

Steve grabbed his towel over his mouth to avoid splitting his water in midair. "You think he had what?"

"Well, he certainly also probably had clinical depression like his brother," said Sharon. "One of the reasons I was assigned to you was that I have a certain expertise in spotting the symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder and various levels of depression. Van Gogh probably had an early form of depression throughout most of his life, but he didn't start acting truly mad until after he started living with a prostitute and her two children, and she was known to have syphilis. Unless that living arrangement was a celibate one, which I doubt, he probably contracted it from her. In fact I know he did. He was admitted to a hospital and treated for the clap. He said so himself in a letter to his brother. Back then, they treated it with mercury. As in the stuff that drove hatters mad. And he was also known to drink absinthe, which, back then, was usually mixed with stuff like paint thinners that could drive you batty."

"Yeah they skipped over that part in our history," said Steve with a smile. "My classes tended to focus on his work."

"Well he was certainly the cliché struggling artist," said Sharon. "But back then, they treated everything with mercury and arsenic. They knew that mercury could poison you, but I don't think they knew the truly devastating effects that it could have on the brain at that point. Couple that with the madness that can come from syphilis, add mercury poisoning, along with a healthy dose of genetic depression, and it's a miracle he lasted as long as he did. I don't know that I would've lasted that long under those conditions without taking a gun to myself. Not to make light of such things, mind you. Anyone of those conditions on their own is certainly no joke. And fatal to a lot of people. Even in the modern times with modern treatment."

"Back in my day, they were only just starting to treat that stuff with penicillin. But in my parents' generation, it was basically a death sentence. And even today, I noticed that people still have a lot of shame around that."

"They do," said Sharon. "And that's never a fun conversation to have with your parents."

"My mom just shoved a nursing textbook in front of me, told me to read chapter 5, and then later asked if I had any questions," said Steve.

Sharon laughed. "Knowing what I do about the time, I'm surprise she did even that. But I guess medical professionals have a different outlook on such things."

"Most of the education that me and Bucky had came from the older boys in our schools. That and the few times we were brave enough to sneak into the adult only theater. Which I deny any participation in, though Bucky would brag about it."

Sharon gave Steve a sideways glance that let him know she hadn't believed his denial of participation, but he was relieved to see that she didn't seem to be judgmental about it. His mother would've had three different kinds of fits if she had ever known.

"My mom hauled me to a three hour seminar at the local hospital for mothers and daughters," said Sharon. "Like you though, I had already learned the basics from the older girls in my class. And various biology courses in school."

"Which is more than the girls of my time got," said Steve's quietly. Sharon just nodded in agreement.

That Saturday morning, Steve awoke actually feeling a certain sense of anticipation. It was the first time he could recall looking forward to something since all of this mess had started. Losing Peggy, losing the Avengers, and then finding himself an international fugitive, all while trying to help Bucky, had taken a toll on him, and he wondered if he even remembered how to enjoy normal, non-bad guy bashing related activities. Going to the museum with Sharon was something he had never even thought about, but now found himself looking forward to up to the point to where even is tossing and turning the night before had not bothered him. Naturally he was anxious about everybody going out, but nobody was going to be on their own, and Sharon was probably right, cooping themselves up in the house afraid to go out was not going to do any of them any good psychologically. He noticed at breakfast that everyone seem to be in something of a jocular mood. Even Wanda joked and laughed with the others.

When it came time to leave, the spies evaluated everyone to make sure they were as well as unrecognizable as possible. Then, they all piled into the two cars, with Steve and Sharon taking the sedan, and everyone else piling into the SUV. The girls would drop Hunter and Sam off at the park for the soccer game, and then head to the craft store across town. Steve and Sharon would had to the art museum.

"Everyone keep your communicators handy," said Steve. "If you start getting any kind of funny looks, beat a hasty retreat. No exceptions. And if you get into trouble, head to one of the rendezvous points that Bobbi mentioned around the city. Stay low until we can come get you for an extraction."

"We got it, Cap," said Sam. "We'll all be fine."

"Let's roll then," said Steve. And they all headed in their separate directions.

Because Sharon had actually visited the city several times before and Steve had never been, he graciously conceded to letting her drive. They meandered their way through the streets of Amsterdam, taking around about way so that they could look at some of the sights of the city. Steve had to admit, the architecture of the Dutch modern blended with historical was quite beautiful. They passed by parks and cafés, neighborhoods and historical monuments. Steve found his mind shifting slightly, examining the angles of the buildings and the shadows of the sun light in the trees. He began sorting ideas in his mind on how it would be like to sketch some of the scenes, and for the first time in a long time, his mind started turning back towards his artwork. His creative outlet had been stifled for far too long in the interest of being a soldier. But the artist part of him that had been there long before he was ever Captain America, lying dormant, occasionally reared its head.

Sharon was silent as they drove, preferring to let him be alone with his thoughts. She had her own to think about. Her mind shifted from topic to topic, giving each one approximately five minutes of undivided attention before moving onto the next. Her aunt Peggy's death. The apologetic email she had sent to her various family members in the voicemail she had left for her mother letting them know that she had to go underground for a while and not to panic if they didn't hear from her. Her resignation letter explaining everything she had done that she had dropped in the mail to Everett Ross, annoying as he was, who had been one of the few friends she could count at the CIA, who had been willing to give an ex SHIELD agent a chance when others were reluctant. The explanation letter she had left for her landlord in Berlin explaining that he could sell everything in her apartment to cover her last month's rent. Sneaking the location of the safe house to Steve and finding Natasha. The wild trek back-and-forth across Europe. But once she had devoted enough time in her mind to logically processing these things, her thoughts then turned to the man beside her.

She had no idea what to think of him.

When she had been assigned to watch him, she had drawn on everything her aunt had ever told her about him, everything that had ever been written about him, along with personal observation. She was professional, she knew the cost of getting emotionally involved with your target. And for the most part, she has been able to avoid doing that while on assignment. I mean, sure she had a little crush on him, and who wouldn't? He was gorgeous, endearing, and an all-around honest and genuinely nice guy. A woman would have to be made of stone or ranking somewhere else on the Kinsey scale to not feel a jolt being around him. He had that force of personality, when he wasn't using it to be a leader, he was using it to be the kind of guy you wanted to bring home to meet your mother. He was the kind of guy who helped old ladies upstairs, carried groceries for the harried mother with two kids under each arm, and fed your fish for you while you were on vacation. She had personally seen him do all three of these things. When she had seen a shy little three-year-old boy approach him outside of their building and ask for an autograph, she had seen Steve grin, drop to one knee so he was eye level with the boy and have a conversation with him about who was stronger, him, Thor, or Hulk. By the end of the exchange, the little boy was laughing, had three different things with Steve's signature on it, and several fist bumps to send him on his way. Sharon had actually felt her ovaries twist at that one.

She had been told that he was somewhat socially awkward, so she was rather surprised at his endearing offer to grab coffee sometime, along with the gracious way that he had accepted when she had turned him down. Most guys who asked for her number or try to hit on her usually turned dark and rude when she indicated that she was not interested. She had been called all manner of names, heading toward sideways insults, or even the somewhat dismissive 'whatever' from a disappointed male who had been at unable to win her over. If any of them had bothered to ask, she could have truthfully said that she didn't have time to date or get in a relationship since she never knew on any given day when she was going to be expected to fly to Indonesia and take down a terrorist cell. The one time she did tell that to a guy, he had left thinking she was joking. And then his horrified expression when he realized she was telling the truth told her all that she needed to know about dating civilians. They would never be able to deal. Even her own uncle Dan, Peggy's husband, had been in the life himself prior to the founding of SHIELD. It was how he and Peggy had met. It took a certain kind of person to put up with an agent of SHIELD. Steve would look for a long time before he would find a woman who could deal with what he was. And Sharon knew that she would maybe never find a man who would be able to deal with what she was. Her two relationships previous to becoming a full SHIELD agent has not exactly been disasters but had been far from successful. One guy had been a civilian who had tried to talk her out of her career because it was too dangerous. The second had been SHIELD himself, but had been an analyst who was not familiar with what field agents usually went through, and had not been able to deal with her strength of personality. She had not regretted seeing the back of either of them.

But when Steve had asked her out, not knowing who she was, it had been everything she could do to avoid saying yes. She had really wanted to say yes. But she had forced herself to turn him down gently. At the time, he didn't even know her real name. It would be unfair to go on a date with him under false pretenses. Some agents didn't mind using such tactics to get close to their marks, but even if she had it in her to do such things, she couldn't do that to him. Not to Steve Rogers. But she could see what had endeared him to her aunt so much. When he wasn't in Captain America mode, he was like a big cuddly teddy bear or a happy golden retriever. Actually he was like a golden retriever who had recently lost his beloved owner; it was still happy to see you, but with an undercurrent of sadness. That was something about him that made her want to wrap her arms around him and hold him. When he had kissed her under the bridge back in Berlin, she had felt a jolt go right down her spine. It had caught her by surprise. No other man had ever done that to her before. And that was just a kiss.

Now, here they were, both of them fugitives, and both of them stuck at the same safe house without much direction for the future. She knew he was up most nights staring at the ceiling, letting the wheels turn in his mind, undoubtedly blaming himself for all of their situations. More than anything, she wanted to take that away from him, let him relax if only for a few minutes. She knew how she wanted to do that too, but she was pretty sure that wasn't in the immediate future. She felt comfortable now saying they were at least friends, but more? She doubted either of them were sure about anything more at this point. The only optimistic point in all of this was that they now apparently had a lot of time on their hands, and which they were going to be in close proximity to each other, to see about working that out.

She was so lost in her thoughts she almost missed the turn into the van Gogh Museum, and hoped she didn't startle Steve too much when she jammed on the brakes and yanked the car up into the parking lot.

"Sorry about that," she said sheepishly. "Not entirely sure of where I was."

"As long is we didn't sideswipe anyone, I think we're good," he said with a smile.

They parked and got out, doing a double check on their disguises, making sure that they would not be easily recognized. Then, they headed into the museum. They grabbed a couple of audio devices that would allow them to self-tour the museum, and made their way inside. Sharon had never really thought much about van Gogh as an artist, she had only studied him from the psychological side for her psych classes. In fact, his paintings had always struck her is being a little weird. But as she held the listening device up to her ear and listen to the narrator discuss the various points of the tormented artist's life, she had to admit that what he had created out of that psychological distress, weird though it was, was beautiful. But what she really enjoyed was watching Steve's expression as he held the listening device up to his own ear and stood for as much as 15 to 20 minutes in front of a single painting, hearing the story behind it and listening to the points of interest on each.

When they came to the reproduction of 'The Starry Night', for the original was in a museum in New York, the audio device gave the option of playing the song written by Don McLean. Steve had never heard it, so they both listened to it, and Sharon noticed a slight shine in Steve's eyes that might have been unshed tears. She couldn't blame him, this song was enough to make anyone cry, along with the circumstances under which that painting has been made.

"You know," she said to him, "before I knew the story behind this painting, it was one of my favorites, and I'm not a big fan of van Gogh."

He turned to look at her and gave her a raised eyebrow that indicated he would like her to continue.

"Aside from the fact that it's apparently the most recognized painting in the world, seriously if you walk into a Starbucks you can probably find a coffee mug with this painting on it, but it was always so trippy to look at. I've had insomnia since I was a teenager, and this picture always kind of reminded me to not be so hard on myself about not being able to sleep due to stress. The way he painted things at night, this one, that painting that was done by a river at night, and that one over there that's a café at night , they kind of remind me that those of us who are awake at night see a certain beautiful aspect of the world than a lot of people don't. Some places at night can be very pretty."

"That's definitely true," he agreed. "I did some sketches of places when I was in art school, but it wasn't really my thing. I tend to prefer to sketch people, though I did a few sketches of Stark tower. Before it got all torn up I mean."

Sharon smiled and nodded, and then guided him over toward the end of the exhibit. As with most institutions geared towards tourists, they were required to exit the building by going through the gift shop. And like any other tourists, they made several side detours before heading towards the exit. By the time they made it out of the building, Sharon walked out with a few prints to hang on the wall of her room back of the house, and Steve walked out with a calendar of some of van Gogh's more famous paintings. They still had some time to spare before meeting the others for dinner, so they drove to a nearby park where they could walk along one of the canals, but decided against a boat ride. Still being the agents they were, they did not want to be caught on a watercraft only to be recognized and unable to get away easily. They walked along some residential streets, admiring the fall decorations that some of the houses were sporting, and picked up a hand out at a new stand that hold of upcoming festivals and events that would be held in the area.

As they started back for the car, Steve took Sharon's hand. She hesitated for a second, and then squeezed his fingers.

"There was some concern wasn't there? About me I mean. Someone was afraid I would do myself in. Was it Fury?" he asked quietly.

If Sharon was surprised at his sudden insight, no doubt brought on by the visit to the van Gogh Museum, she didn't show it. She just looked at him, and then looked away.

"Yes," she said softly.

"I wouldn't have, you know," he said, trying to keep a slight edge of bitterness out of his voice. "But if you have the psychology degree, I guess that's why they wanted you next-door to me."

"There were a lot of reasons Fury choose me," said Sharon. "None the least of which was our shared background, since I already knew more about you than Phil Colson. And that's saying something."

Steve actually smiled at that.

"But you also have to understand," she said continuing, "at the time you were coming up, almost nobody knew anything about PTSD. If you fought in a war, you were sent right home like nothing happened, and you were expected to go back to your life like you have never been away witnessing some of the most horrific things human beings can do to each other. Even during your time, you probably would have known some soldiers from WW1 who came home but were never quite right after that. Men who never touched a drop of liquor before the war now couldn't get through the day without some strong whiskey. Mild mannered men who were known to be gentle and kind came home and beat their wives and children for no apparent reason. Big burly factory workers came home and would have nightmares where they would scream like they were being murdered. And more than one decided to end it all about jumping off the nearest bridge. You never heard of cases like these?"

"No, I did," he admitted. "Back then they called it 'battle fatigue.' That was a guy on another floor of my building who had nightmares so bad the entire hallway would hear him screaming."

"It wasn't much better by WWII," she said. "Battle fatigue, shellshock, at that point people knew it was a real problem, but it was still a taboo topic. Something shameful. Even today, people still think that it is only something that affects weak-willed people or cowards. We know now that isn't true, but the stigma still there. When you first woke up, we had to consider that, to you, WWII would've happened yesterday. Concentration camps happened last week. And Nazis were waiting to ambush you around every corner. We had no idea what kind of condition you would be in mentally when you woke up."

"Hence the fake hospital charade," said Steve. "Yes, Natasha explained that one to me. But I've been examined since then, and Sam agrees, I don't seem to show signs of posttraumatic stress disorder. The only one of us who really showed signs of anything like it was Tony after the battle of New York."

"For which he is finally getting some sort of counseling, thanks to Pepper as I understand it," said Sharon. "But that was also the problem of you having been asleep for 70 years. We have absolutely no precedent for that. The closest we ever came was the occasional rare patient who might have been in a coma for a couple of years and woke up to find everything about his world and his family different, but not so different that society was unrecognizable. Even the guy who was in a coma for 10 years and woke up to find his wife had remarried, his parents have died, he no longer had a job or a house, and a whole host of other things needed extensive counseling to readjust. What exactly were we going to say to you after so many years? You went to sleep at a time when most people still only had radios in their houses, and you woke up in a time when you could hold a small computer in your hand and watch anything that has ever been digitized. The disorientation from that alone would cause a massive psychological shock. Couple that with the strain of losing everyone you ever cared about and the possible stress of war, and you have to admit it would have been irresponsible for us to just leave you to your own devices."

"Nat said that you took a demotion to watch me from across the hall. Is that true?"

"Sort of," she admitted. "I still get paid the same. But to go from field agent to watch dog is considered a backward step in SHIELD and most other intelligence communities. It's something that you usually get assigned with after You've pissed somebody off. I volunteered."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," she said turning to look him in the eye, "regardless of how things turned out, the Carters still consider you family, even if by association only. And frankly I didn't trust anyone else to do it. And I wanted to."

Steve's eyes met hers and they gazed at each other intently. Her eyes were a similar shade of blue to his, something similar to a clear sky on a spring day. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and he was reminded of that time when they stood in front of the elevator and she had stared intently at him then. If they had not both just comes from Peggy's funeral, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't have followed her up to her room and found out exactly what that look meant. It was the same look she was giving him now, one that was clearly filled with anticipation, but was waiting for him to make the first move. And that was something he had never been good at. Even with Peggy, learning to talk to a woman and operate romantically have been like navigating a minefield. And Peggy had been very understanding. He suspected Sharon would be too, but that didn't mean he was eager to make an ass of himself by saying or doing the wrong thing.

What he wanted to do was kiss her senseless. And judging from the way her eyes widened slightly, he suspected that not only did she sense what he wanted, but that she was on board with it herself. Did she really want him as much as he wanted her?

"Sharon…" he whispered.

"Steve…" she whispered back and then angled her head slightly. It was all he needed.

He tipped his head down to her and caught her lips with his own. She was tentative at first, and then relaxed and seem to melt into him with a sigh that was almost one of relief. His arms came up and wrapped around her, pulling her close, and he felt her arms encircle him. He deepened the kiss and he felt her whimper slightly, which almost made him lose complete control right there in the park. Their first kiss under the bridge had been tentative and exploratory, with a hint of passion behind it, but it was abbreviated due to the lack of time and the fact that they had the audience of two men sitting in a car not far away looking on, and smiling. It had caused them to cut the whole process short, and had still left them both unfulfilled and with a lot of questions about the other. Up until that point, Steve had not been entirely sure if Sharon had returned his feelings, but after that he had been reasonably assured that she did. That did not mean, however, that she was ready to pursue a relationship with him. Up until this point when she had finally shown up at the safe house, and had come with him on this excursion, he had not been sure if she was keeping him at arm's length for his sake or hers. But now as they stood in the park engaging in a kiss that was almost qualified as sex itself, he had no further doubt that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But how to proceed from here? He had no idea.

For her part, Sharon quickly felt her mind spinning out of control. She wasn't the sort of person who allowed herself to fall head over heels senseless over a man, but so help her, that seemed to be what was happening right now. The longer he continued to kiss her, the harder she was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. This kiss wasn't at all like the first one. It was more urgent, more demanding and urgent, and although he started off tentatively, it was clear that he had found some reservoir of bravery, because now his hands were pulling her closer to him, and gently exploring her back. She felt his breathing speed up, and her own breathing sped up to match his.

She should stop him, she thought to herself. To begin with, they were in public and if they got any more aggressive with each other, there was a very real possibility that the authorities would be called by one of the parents with their kids also in the park. Also, they could be recognized if they stayed out much longer. She also had to consider his level of inexperience. He had only been on a few dates that she knew about, an unofficial one with her, and his last serious emotional attachment to a woman had been to her own great-aunt nearly 80 years ago. As difficult as it was, for the only thing she wanted to do was lose herself in him, and let her own hands wander where they would, she knew that for the sake of their own protection, she had to be the voice of reason. With resignation, she gently broke the kiss and backed up.

"Steve, hold up," she said.

He immediately straightened up and released her, his eyes going slightly wide and cautious.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean, that is, if I'm going to fast, or shouldn't have at all."

"No no, it's OK," she assured him. "Really, you're good. But we're out in the open. Someone might see us or recognized us. We have to be careful. We're not in the clear yet."

She saw him visibly relax at her assurances that his actions were not unwelcomed, but then he sobered with realization and nodded in agreement.

"You're right. We should probably go. I wasn't thinking."

She put a hand on his arm and gave him what she hoped was a companionable smile. She took his hand and led him back to the car. The drive to meet up with the others after their day away from the house was mostly quiet. Steve was in a small amount of turmoil. He wanted badly to ask Sharon what she was thinking, if he had overstepped his bounds, and if they should continue where that left off when they got in to more private surroundings back at the house. But he was afraid that she might turn him down if he broached the subject. While he was certain that she reciprocated his feelings, he wasn't sure at what speed she was willing to explore them. She seemed not to have minded the fact that he had kissed her so much as she minded that they might be spotted. But had that meant that if they have been somewhere private that things would have progressed? It was difficult to gauge what she was thinking from her silence. Ever the spy, her demeanor gave nothing away. She was like Natasha in that way. That being the case, he knew that he would not get much information from her at this moment, not until she was ready to talk.

They made their way to the restaurant where they had agreed to meet the others. Steve was relieved to see the SUV already there and everyone else waiting around. He hoped it not been too long. They had picked out a restaurant that specialized in Scandinavian fare, given that the Scandinavian countries were not too far away. As they pulled up and got out of the car, Steve made a comment to Sharon about how, when he was growing up, spaghetti was considered exotic food, and now here he was about to eat Viking food. That got a smile and a laugh from her, which lifted his spirits. Maybe things didn't have to be so tense between them after all.

The others greeted them warmly, and they made their way inside the restaurant. Apparently this evening was smorgasbord night, with a buffet type setting that they could pick and choose from. Steve followed Sharon and Sam up to where the dishes were set out, and encountered a lot of familiar looking foods that were prepared in ways he was not entirely familiar with. There were open faced sandwiches of hard boiled eggs covered with cod roe caviar, some type of yellow pea soup called artsoppa, mashed potatoes, roast chicken, Swedish meatballs, pickled beets, fish, and bread.

Steve eyed the food warily, but smiled at Sharon's good-natured chuckle as she ladelled some of the fish and mashed potatoes on to her own plate. He followed suit and joined the others at the table where everyone recounted their day out. Apparently Sam had scored a couple of decent goals at the pickup soccer game in the park, impressing Hunter who had grown up playing soccer and had not scored one. Bobbi, Natasha, and Wanda talked about spending literally the entire day in the craft supply warehouse, wandering the aisles and picking up nearly every kind of crafting kit they could lay their hands on to keep busy. Steve was touched when Wanda mentioned that they had picked him up some drawing pads and sketching materials just in case he ever wanted to take up his artwork again. Then they had gone to a large book store and had stocked up on books to read, drawing a grateful smile from Sharon when they handed her a bag of books that Bobbi indicated where Sarah Castille's entire Redemption series.

"What's that series about?" asked Steve.

"Looks like MMA fightser," said Sharon. "MMA fighter romance?"

"I promise, you'll like it," said Nat, with a conspiratorial smirk to Bobbi.

"Romance series that puts 50 Shades to shame," said Bobbi.

"50 Shades sucked," said Sharon. "That was the most badly written piece of crap I've ever read. I was actually hoping both characters would fall off a bridge by the end of the series. Never mind the content, those were some of the most irritating characters I ever had the misfortune to read. In real life, those two would have been smacked hard a long time ago, they are so irritating."

"Tell us how you really feel," said Nat. "I promise, those will be more entertaining. Incidentally, there's also a fresh set of batteries in there too."

"Nat! Jesus..." said Sharon, giving her friend are halfway mock glare.

Steve turned and looked at Sharon, his eyebrows raised. He knew about the 50 Shades series, and was a little surprised to hear that she had read it. But now he was curious about the books in the bag. At first she refused to catch his eye but finally turn to look at him and gave him a conspiratorial flirty smile. Then she change the subject and started grilling Wanda about the books she had picked up. Steve, figuring he wasn't going to get any more clues, turned to Sam to ask him about participating in other games coming up.

That evening passed companionably, with all of them going back for thirds and fourths more than they should have, before everyone mutually but reluctantly agreed that it was time to go back to the house. The drive back was a little less tense between him and Sharon, as they talked about him resuming his artwork, and her coming up with something to do with herself.

"I suppose I should probably come up with a creative pastime," she agreed. "Art is good for soothing the soul, and the knitting and crocheting seems to be helping Wanda a bit. Maybe I'll take that back up. I could knit you some red white and blue mittens."

"Maybe I should take up more reading," he said with a smile. "Should I borrow your new books?"

"I don't know Steve," she said teasingly. "They might be too much for you to handle."

"I can handle whatever you can handle," he said, surprising himself at the tone in his voice. He wasn't used to talking to women in that tone, but her smile made it worth it. Apparently she wasn't offended. But then her look turned serious.

"All things considered though, we all probably do need to think about what we're going to do with ourselves in the future. We're all wanted fugitives, so that narrows the field a bit. Most of us have been trained for direct combat and intelligence gathering jobs. And Wanda is still young enough to want to consider what she wants to do with herself long-term. All of us know that we like helping people and disrupting the plans of evil miscreants. There might be a way we could all continue to do such things, like Bobbi and Hunter, but it something that would require a lot of consideration. We would be operating outside of the law. And people have varying opinions about vigilante justice. If any of us are considering trying to go legit, anything we do from this point on my hamper that."

"Unless something extreme happens, going legit probably would mean prison time for all of us," said Steve.

"Yes it would," she agreed. "Unless there's another alien invasion you manage to stop. And even then you probably end up on house arrest."

"Personally I hope there's never another alien invasion," said Steve.

Sharon agreed, as they pulled into the garage under the house alongside the SUV, and got out to help the others haul their purchases upstairs. Everyone disbursed to their respective rooms with their newly acquired items, and Steve spread out the art materials on the dining room table to inventory what he had to work with, shooting another thanks to the women over his shoulder for getting it for him. Sharon came through the kitchen caring the prints she had gotten at the van Gogh Museum.

"I'm taking these upstairs to hang in my room, then shower time for me. I'll probably catch some TV in my room and then bedtime. See you in the morning Steve," she said, leaving the room before he could suggest that they go somewhere to talk or be alone.

Steve managed slightly disappointed "Good night Sharon" to her retreating back as she disappeared up the stairs.