Author's note: Thanks to sofiarose613, PrimeReader and the various Guests for your reviews! Always nice to know someone's reading my work.

Chapter 12

It was Saturday night, and Rogers was looking at the phone book again. Sharon hadn't even realized they still made them, but he'd found one somewhere, and he'd been looking at it off and on a lot lately. The feed from the camera wasn't clear enough for her to see the text on the page, and unfortunately he never left the book open when he left his apartment, so she couldn't see what he was looking at that way, either. Might be residential numbers, might be the advertisements. He never called anyone after he looked at it, so Sharon was at a loss. She wished he would just look everything up on the internet like a normal person, since it was a simple matter for her to look at his browsing history. He was getting pretty proficient at using the computer for some things, but at other times he reverted to the old ways, whether out of stubbornness or because he just didn't know everything the computer could do, she was never quite sure.

He shut the phone book and went into his bedroom. After a minute, she heard the sound of a shower. Sharon frowned. He'd showered that morning, after his run. Was he planning to go out? She hurried to the closet and chose a wig and an evening outfit, just in case.

Her guess turned out to be right. When he came back into the living room, he was wearing a button-up shirt and tie. He put on his shoes, pulled on his jacket, and left. Sharon waited the appropriate amount of time for him to make it down the stairs and get ahead of her, and then she slipped out and followed him.

He took the subway and got off a few stops later. There were plenty of restaurants and shops open late here, and the sidewalk was well-lit and crowded with Saturday revelers. He walked half a block down and then stopped at an area of the sidewalk that was cordoned off with ropes. A small crowd of chatting, laughing people were waiting to get into a nightclub called The Flamingo, and to Sharon's surprise Rogers got in the line, too.

He'd never done anything like this before. Intrigued, Sharon leaned against a shop not far away, pulling out her phone and pretending to talk into it while watching him out of the corner of her eye.

He stood there a little awkwardly, watching the other people who had all come with groups of friends. He looked totally out of place, standing there alone, and Sharon's heart went out to him. He hadn't dressed right for the occasion, either.

"Ditch the tie," she whispered.

He couldn't hear her, of course, but he figured it out pretty quick by looking around at the other men in the line, and he unknotted his tie and stuffed it in his pocket. After another minute, he reached up and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, too. That was more like it. He was getting better at details like that.

There were two girls standing close to him, laughing and chatting with each other, one with dark hair tumbling down her shoulders and glitter applied liberally to her eyelids, the other with her blonde hair up in a big, poufy updo. The glittery brunette glanced over at Rogers, and then did a double-take. She leaned forward and whispered something to her friend, who smiled broadly and looked over at him, too. He noticed them looking, and smiled politely. Seeing a conversation coming, Sharon reached up and switched on her earpiece.

"Have you been here before?" Glitter Girl asked Rogers, her voice coming in clearly through Sharon's earpiece. He shook his head, and she leaned forward with a conspiratorial look. "The secret to getting inside," she said, "is to stand out from the crowd."

"Stand out how?" Rogers asked.

"No idea," Glitter Girl said, and she and her friend went into peals of laughter. "That's the problem! We've been standing here 20 minutes already."

The bouncer was moving through the crowd, asking for IDs and sending a few people here and there toward the entrance. He stopped in front of Rogers and looked at him expectantly, and Rogers reached into his pocket and handed over his card. The bouncer looked at it carefully for a minute and then up at Rogers.

"Okay-" the bouncer started to say.

"The birthdate on that isn't right," Rogers interrupted.

The bouncer stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

"What?" he said.

"That isn't my birthdate."

The bouncer looked dumbfounded, and so did the two girls standing there watching. "Well, what is your birthdate?" he asked at last.

"1918," Rogers said.

"1980?" the bouncer asked.

"1918," Rogers repeated, enunciating very clearly.

Glitter Girl and her blond friends broke out into a fit of giggles, and suddenly the bouncer grinned too. "Okay, man," he chuckled. "Points for creativity. I've never seen that one before. And since there's no earthly way you're under 21, go ahead in. Any of these other people with you?"

"We are," Glitter Girl spoke up eagerly. Rogers hesitated, but before he could say anything the bouncer waved all three of them in. The two girls giggled and followed Rogers in like a pair of excited puppies.

Sharon put down her phone and strolled boldly to the front of the line, suddenly understanding something that hadn't made sense before: If Rogers was willing to apply for the Army multiple times under false addresses, why hadn't he just lied about his medical history while he was at it? It seemed the obvious thing to do. Now she realized: It isn't that he's a bad liar. It's that he hates lying, and he won't do it any more than he absolutely has to.

She reached into her purse, pulled out her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge, and showed it to the bouncer. He looked at it for a second, and then nodded her toward the door.

Inside, music was thumping and lights were flashing. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust, and then she didn't immediately see Rogers. Sharon wove her way through the crowd, searching, until she finally caught sight of him again, taking a moment to be grateful that he was tall enough to stand out in the crowd.

He was standing at the edge of the dance floor, staring at the scene below with his mouth open, a kind of horror creeping across his face. Sharon didn't even have to look at the dancers to know what he was thinking. The bumping, the grinding, the clothes — or the lack thereof — common in nightclubs were definitely not anything he would have seen in the 1940s. She suppressed her exasperation. If he wanted the old-fashioned experience, why didn't he go to a ballroom? Or a swing club? Or even a country music bar?

Then she softened a little. He must have had no idea what he was getting into. He must have assumed that if it was a dance club, there'd be people dressed up nicely and having a good time. Well, he was half right; they were having a good time. But Rogers definitely wasn't. He stood there a little longer, his expression gradually sinking into disappointment, until finally he clenched one hand into a fist, tapped it against his thigh a couple of times, and then turned around and walked away.

Sharon had no doubt he was going to leave the club. But he hadn't gone far through the crowd when suddenly Glitter Girl from the line outside was standing right in his path, and he pulled up short.

"Hey!" she said, smiling brightly at him, nearly shouting to be heard over the music. "I don't think I ever got your name."

He looked a little trapped, but he smiled politely and said, "It's Steve."

"What?"

He leaned closer to her so she could hear over the music. "Steve!"

"Steve? Hi, I'm Courtney." She gave him a cutesy little wave and smiled again. "Are you meeting anyone here?"

"No."

"My friend just ditched me," Courtney said with a tinkling laugh, shaking her head so that her earrings swung wildly against her neck. "Hey, do you want to go get a drink or something?"

He said something that Sharon couldn't quite catch — the thumping music was playing havoc with her earpiece — but Courtney took him by the arm and fairly pulled him toward the bar. Sharon followed them at a distance, relieved. At least it would be quieter over there.

They sat down together at the bar and ordered drinks. Rogers took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. Sharon leaned up against a post behind them, some distance away. She could hear them much better now. They were just making small talk: where are you from, how long have you lived in New York, what do you like to do?

The girl was definitely flirting with him, and he was — cautiously — flirting back. Sharon shook her head a little at his shyness. The girl was making her interest plain. Didn't he know he could get away with being a lot more forward than that?

But of course he didn't, she realized. How long had he looked the way he did? Only a few years, by his reckoning of time, anyway. And he'd been fighting a war all that time, surrounded by a bunch of men. This could very well be his first real social encounter with a woman since his transformation. No wonder he was hesitant.

He was looking a little more relaxed, though, now that the dance floor was out of sight. And Courtney was wearing a dress that covered more skin than many of the other women there. He seemed to be comfortable enough with her. He seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

They'd been sitting there talking for a good half hour, and Sharon had had to rebuff several attempts by passing guys to draw her into a conversation, when Courtney suddenly slid off her stool.

"Come on," she said, pulling on Rogers' arm. He stood up, looking confused. "Come on. Let's go dance now."

"I don't... I don't wanna dance," he said quickly, planting his feet and stopping her cold. Courtney pouted a little at that, but then she looked at him again with narrowed eyes. A crooked smile tugged at her lips and her eyes suddenly gleamed.

"You don't want to dance?" she said slowly. "You want to do... something else?"

Rogers nodded quickly, looking relieved. "Yeah."

"I know where to go. Come on!" She pulled at his hand again, and this time he relented, following her as she wove through the crowd. Sharon was hard-pressed to keep up with them, but she managed to catch sight of them disappearing into a door marked employees-only. When Sharon reached it, she opened it a crack and peeked through. There was no one in sight. Sharon slipped through the door and quietly crept down the narrow hallway. The music was muffled here, reduced to the thumping beat. She passed the employee bathrooms and moved on. She heard a giggle not far ahead, and she slowed her pace.

Sharon spotted an open doorway ahead and stopped before she reached it, reaching into her purse and pulling out her compact mirror. She opened it up and held it out, angling it so she could see around the corner. Yep, they were in there. Some kind of storage room. Rogers was looking around in confusion.

"What-?" he started to say. Courtney grabbed his face with both hands, stood up on tiptoes in her tottering heels, and kissed him.

Rogers looked so shocked when the girl pulled away that Sharon had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Did he seriously not see that coming? Apparently not. She watched in the tiny mirror, wondering if he would bolt.

She was a little surprised when he didn't. He just stood there, looking at Courtney, his eyes darting around her face. More slowly this time, the girl went up on her tiptoes again and kissed him more gently. This time, he actually kissed her back, putting one hand carefully on her back.

Sharon leaned back against the wall, blowing out a silent sigh, still holding up her mirror. She didn't really want to watch this, but she knew she had to stick around. If Rogers had any predilections, any weaknesses, Fury would want to know. Things like that could be problematic in their line of work. She'd had to endure some pretty personal questions along those lines during her application process.

Things went on for a while. Sharon tried not to shift impatiently. Courtney had her hands wrapped around the back of Rogers' neck, but then she slid them down his chest, and then down lower, landing on his belt buckle.

Rogers started, and suddenly grabbed her by the wrists, pulling back a step and looking at her strangely.

Then she asked him a question. A really direct, explicit question that made Sharon's eyebrows shoot up.

Rogers stared at the girl and didn't answer right away. Around the corner, Sharon cringed on his behalf. Did he even know what that meant? She didn't know what nomenclature had been around since the old days, and what hadn't been. He had to have some clue what it meant, given the context. He had to.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I think... we should go have another drink."

"Okay..." Courtney said slowly, looking a little hurt. "Okay. Let's go have another drink."

Quietly and quickly, Sharon slipped into the employee bathroom and waited there until she heard them walk down the hallway. After a minute, she came out again and made her way back to the bar. They were sitting there again, getting another round of drinks. She reclaimed her previous spot behind them and listened in.

Courtney was chattering away, but Rogers wasn't saying much this time, instead looking at the girl with a crease slowly deepening between his eyebrows.

"Have you ever dated a guy shorter than you?" he asked suddenly, interrupting her in the middle of a sentence.

"What?" Courtney made a face. "Of course not."

"Would you?"

"What for?" she asked blankly.

"What if he was the perfect guy in every way?" he persisted.

"If he was shorter than me, he wouldn't be perfect," Courtney said coolly, taking another sip of her drink. "Besides..." Her eyes roamed over Rogers' body. "It's not like there's a shortage of tall guys."

She looked down to take another sip, and missed seeing Rogers' face turn to stone. Then she put down her glass and hopped off the stool.

"I'm going to run to the ladies' room," she announced. "Don't move a muscle." She rubbed his bicep flirtatiously and swished off.

Rogers sat there, a living statue, hand clenched around his glass but not drinking from it. His lip was curled slightly in disgust, perfectly matching what Sharon was feeling right now. Stupid ditzy girl.

"Just go," Sharon whispered at Rogers' rigid back, and after a few more seconds, he did exactly that, putting money down on the counter, grabbing his jacket, and heading straight for the door. He walked so fast that he was already a good distance down the sidewalk by the time Sharon managed to get outside, too. She had to half-run to catch up with him.

She almost expected him to start running, his usual response when a new freakout began brewing. But he only walked rapidly for a few blocks, and then stopped on an overpass. He stood looking over the wall and watched the traffic for a while. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. A pocket watch?

He flipped it open and looked at it. Sharon's eyes widened. Not a pocket watch. The long-lost compass Fury had told her about. She'd never seen him take it out before.

Steve gazed unseeing at the headlights moving below him in an unending stream. New York, the city that never slept... not unlike himself.

The evening really hadn't turned out the way he had expected. He saw now that he should have known something was wrong when the girl kissed him that fast. But he hadn't been sure that that wasn't the way things normally played out. His own lack of experience had worked against him.

His desperation for human contact might have had something to do with it, too.

And to be honest, the kissing had been nice. He felt his cheeks flush even now, just thinking about it. It had been really nice. It was just that the girl wasn't.

With a sinking sensation, he realized that no longer being a little guy that girls were afraid to step on hadn't solved his problems the way he had always assumed it would. He had put so much effort into talking to Courtney. Trying to be friendly, trying to make a connection. He thought he had been doing pretty well. But now he saw that she had only been interested in him because of the way he looked. She didn't know who he was inside. She didn't even care to find out. He had braced himself for the possibility of rejection. He hadn't braced himself for the possibility of being used. And it didn't feel great.

How was he supposed to spot the difference in the future? How would he ever know whether a girl really liked him for who he was? He couldn't ever know. It wasn't like with Peggy, who had shown care and concern for him as a person even before he'd been chosen as the candidate for Project Rebirth. He had never doubted the depths of their friendship, even later when he had been uncertain about whether or when he should try to take things to the next level with her.

And now all that was gone. He would never have that certainty again with anyone. He was what he was, and he couldn't go back.

He reached down into his pocket and pulled out the compass. He'd always reserved this for the times of his greatest need, alone in his bedroom. He didn't want to reduce the potency of it by leaning on it too often. But he could feel his heart starting to speed up and the old familiar sensations returning; he was going to have another episode tonight. It had been a month since he'd had one, and now it felt like the claws were closing around him, dragging him back into the dark cage. He felt a flash of anger. He was so tired of this. He wanted to go back to work. He wanted to get on with his life. He tried to focus on Peggy's picture, but it brought none of the usual peace.

There was only one thing left to do. He put the compass back in his pocket, set his jaw, and started to run.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's note: This was one of the trickier chapters to write, and I'm still not sure if I got it right. Does Steve seem in character? Does his mental state match about where he was at the beginning of "The Avengers"? (This chapter takes place only a week or so before that.) I'd be glad to hear either reassurance or constructive criticism. :-)