A few weeks after his birthday, Steve walked into the common area to find Sophia sitting at the breakfast bar, nursing a cup of tea and looking mildly miserable.

"Hey," he said, softly. "Bad night?"

She smiled a bit, in spite of her obvious discomfort.

"No, the night was great. It's always the mornings that are the problem."

He frowned, not quite understanding. He looked at her closer. Her face was pale, she blinked as if the sunlight hurt her eyes and moved like the floor was never quite where she expected it to be. A suspicion formed, a ludicrous one, but persistent.

"Sophia, are you…are you hung over?"

She grinned into her mug.

"It was a very good night."

She'd told him she was going out last night, with Natasha and some of her college friends who were in the Hamptons for the summer and made the trip into the city. But he hadn't thought she would get drunk, let alone drunk enough to have a hangover. She looked up to find him staring at her with an expression of disbelief, touched with a smidge of disapproval. More than a smidge.

"What? I told you I was going out."

He ran a hand over his hair. "Yes, but I never thought…what were you thinking?"

She blinked at him, taken aback. "I was thinking, oh yay my friends are in town? And then by the third bar, I was thinking, oh yay, another round?"

"Don't you think that was maybe not the best idea?"

"Oh, who asked you and your high horse anyway?" she said, sourly. "You're just jealous because you can't even get drunk."

"Sophia, that has nothing to do with this. I'm just trying to point out that going out and getting drunk is not exactly…safe."

"Is here safe?" she asked, spreading her hands. "Last time someone tried to take me, it was in this very building, which has more security than the White House, the Pentagon and Langley combined. Anyway, I had Natasha with me. And nothing happened, other than me consuming maybe a few too many cocktails with stupid names."

"That's not what I meant," he said, frustrated. "I meant that it was a room—multiple rooms, apparently—full of drunk strangers and that drunk strangers can get a little enthusiastic and because of your—your condition—"

"My condition?" she interrupted him, her voice rising. "Don't you think that, of all people, I am aware of my 'condition'? I know perfectly well where my limits are, thank you, and I don't need anyone—least of all you—to remind me that I am somewhat less than fully functional. I know how to take care of myself."

"Sophia, I know you can," he said patiently. "I'm just…concerned. Is there anything you want to talk about?"

She stared at him, sardonic. He persisted, leaning on the breakfast bar and looking earnestly into her face.

"Because going out and getting drunk doesn't seem quite…normal. For you."

Her mouth twisted in irritation.

"Oh, fuck you. You have no idea—no idea—what I was like before the kidnapping, no idea what normal is for me. If anything, the fact that I can go to the bars and get fucking hammered without having a mental breakdown should be taken as a positive sign."

"There's no need for that kind of language," he said, taken aback.

"Oh I think there is," she said, sliding off her chair to confront him. "You have this habit of treating me like some delicate fucking flower, wrapping me in cotton wool and putting me on a pedestal, far out of reach and out of the way of anything that can hurt me. And while it was cute for about five minutes, I'm sick of it."

"I don't treat you like that," he said, his own voice rising now. "I just want to—"

"To what? Protect me? Save me from myself and my bad, childish decisions?" Her voice was biting, sarcastic, and Steve wondered not for the first time how much of Tony's personality actually came from his mother's side. "I'm an adult, Steve, I know my own boundaries, and I know how to deal with the mess that is my life. I survived without you for years after the kidnapping, and I'm better now than I ever have been. If that experience didn't utterly break me, at this point I don't think anything can, certainly not a night out with my friends.

"And everyone else gets that. Natasha gets it, Tony gets it, Pepper gets it, even Clint, overprotective ass that he is, gets it. When I need help, when I'm having trouble coping, I'll fucking let you know. And you know that. So I don't think this conversation is about me and my night out. I think this is about something else."

He stood there, jaw clenched, trying to and failing to come up with words. Because she was right, dammit. She folded her arms.

"Well?"

"I just—I don't like the idea of you going out to those places without—without me."

She raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "Really? Because you don't trust me to take care of myself, or because you don't trust anyone else?"

"Because you're mine!" he burst out. He knew it was a stupid thing to say to her, she who guarded her independence as fiercely as only someone who had been dependent on others for too long could. But he couldn't help himself. The idea of her, out there, all dressed up for a night out, in a room full of drunken men looking for their next hook up was almost too much for him to deal with.

Her face shut down, her jaw tightening and her eyes shuttered. He closed his eyes, passed a hand over his face.

"Sophia, I…I didn't—"

"No," she said, quietly. "I am not having this conversation right now." She turned to leave. "Come find me when you pull your head out of your early twentieth century ass."

"Sophia, wait," he said, and took a step forward to grab her arm and pull her back. She froze, looking down at his hand, then up into his eyes, an expression of pure disbelief on her face. He let go as if she burned him, realization of what he was doing draining the color from his face.

"Oh my god," he whispered. "Sophia, I am so sorry."

She just looked at him, her face devoid of any emotion.

"If you ever—ever—touch me like that again, we are done. We are fucking done."

She left. Steve leaned on the counter, his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he had just done. After a moment, a small noise made him look up to see Tony leaning against the door frame, his face a mask of amiability, a sure sign he was actually furious.

"Tony. How long have you…"

"Long enough," said the smaller man. "You do that again, Spangles, and I'll kill you myself." A cheerful smile flashed lightning fast across his face. "Just so you know."

Steve said nothing, just nodded, dropping his head back into his hands. Tony left, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.

Steve spun his shield at the last creature, almost disappointed as it went down and no more popped up. He never thought he'd be grateful for a plague of giant genetically engineered rhinoceros-hyena hybrids in Iowa, but they had provided a convenient distraction and an appropriate target for his anger—anger which was mostly at himself. It had been three days since the argument, and he hadn't talked to Sophia since, mostly because he had no idea how to start.

"I think that was the last of them, guys," said Tony through the comms. "Clean-up crew's half a mile out, I can see them."

Steve sat down on a handy chunk of masonry and pulled the cowl down, running his hands through his hair. The rest of the team wandered over to join him and watch as the clean-up crew arrived and got to work, laughing and making snark-filled comments that Steve didn't really hear. Tony flew off towards California, saying something about Pepper killing him if he missed another date night, while the rest of them boarded the jet to New York. Natasha and Clint settled in up front, leaving the other three to make themselves comfortable in the back. Steve felt their eyes on him.

"Cap…" said Bruce, his voice gentle, concerned. Steve stood up abruptly, not really feeling like dealing with the oncoming heart-to-heart talk he knew they were about to give him, and turned around to meet the solid wall of Thor. Apparently he wasn't getting out of this that easily.

"Natasha has told us that you and Lady Sophia have had…words," said Thor. Steve shot an exasperated look at the back of the red head in the co-pilot's seat. Was there anything she didn't know?

"And that you haven't talked to her since," continued Bruce.

"Steven, I would offer you my help in this matter, if you desire it," said Thor. Steve almost snorted. Thor offering relationship advice. Now there's a scary thought.

"Guys, I appreciate the sentiment, but can we just…not, right now?"

Thor nodded, but his face still radiated worried affection.

"You should talk to her," said Bruce. Steve sat down as abruptly as he had stood up, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"I don't even know where to start."

Bruce shot him a brief, sideways smile.

"'I'm sorry' is usually a good place to begin."

Sophie looked up to see Steve standing by her desk, his demeanor nervous and uncertain. If he had been holding his shield, she was sure he would've been twiddling it. She sighed.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," he said, simply. "You were right. And I'm an idiot."

She stared at him. This was not, in her experience, the general male reaction to an argument.

"What I did was…unacceptable. But I was hoping we could go somewhere and talk about this?"

She stared at him some more. He shifted, uncomfortable.

"Melinda?" she called over her shoulder, still looking at him. "I'm going out for a bit."

They went for a walk in Central Park, grabbing drinks on the way, mostly so they'd have something to do with their hands.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"What for this time?" she asked, her voice sardonic. But by now he knew half the time sarcasm was how her family showed affection, and the other half it was a defense mechanism.

"Everything I said. I know you don't…belong to me. That was an outdated notion even when I'm from, at least to my mind. And I guess I am overly protective. But only because the idea of losing you, or the idea of something causing you pain if I could prevent it…It terrifies me. I know that's not an excuse, but you at least deserve to know the reason."

He glanced at her, but she was staring at her iced tea like it was fascinating. He persevered anyway.

"Also, I really have no idea what I'm doing. This is my first relationship, my first…everything, nearly. In a time I still haven't got the hang of. But I'm trying. And I'll keep trying, as long as you let me."

She stopped walking and turned to stare at him again, struck yet again by his easy honesty and his apparent complete lack of touchy pride.

"You're an idiot," she said, but she was smiling as she said it. He smiled back at her, tension he wasn't even aware he had been holding easing in his chest.

"I know."

And then she was in his arms, holding him tight as she leaned her head against his shoulder. He hugged her back, gently.

"You really do have to trust me to know myself," she said. "If I need help I'll let you know."

"I know." he said again. "I'll try. I promise. Do you forgive me?"

"I don't know," she said, with a small sigh. "But I will."