So. Part two. I decided halfway through the first part that the second part had to be written in Steve's perspective. It gives the story a balance that I love and lets me explore both of their emotions without writing the same scenes. We've seen Sharon's devastation, now we'll see Steve's hopelessness and how he reacts to that. This story was meant to be a character exploration, a chance to see these two characters react to a situation that, in my opinion, isn't unreasonable for them, and I like to think I've accomplished this goal, and had a lot of fun on the way. I'd also like to thank you everyone for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel and the MCU. I own nothing.

Steve wakes to her crying.

The panic settles in immediately, because Sharon doesn't cry. Especially not like this. Large, painful sobs that have her entire body convulsing and unsteady gasps coming from her mouth. This is pain, despair, sadness — heartbreak.

He doesn't know what he did, just that he did.

"Sharon?" he asks, wrapping an arm around her waist, tugging her closer. "What's wrong?"

Wrong is understating everything, but Steve can't bring himself to voice the actual question: What did I do? Wrong is generic, broad, a question that doesn't necessarily end with him taking the blame, and even though he wants to fix this, to fix her, he's afraid. Steve's always been terrible at saying the bold things, the things that actually matter. He's always honest, sure, but honesty isn't the same as the harsh truth, and even he's afraid of the harsh truth. Because the harsh truth is what hurts people. And while he doesn't like omission, he's familiar with it. It's why he didn't tell Tony about Bucky killing his parents, or ask Peggy for a dance when he had the opportunity. It's why he can't ask Sharon what he did.

He's afraid. He's helpless.

He hates all of this.

Love is complicated, has always been complicated. He'd never talked to girls before the serum, and after the only notable girl was Peggy, and their relationship wasn't typical in the slightest. He'd loved her, and knows that she'd loved him, but even now Steve couldn't say what would've happened if he hadn't gone into the ice. They would've had their dance, but what else? Would they have had a relationship? He remembers the interviews he'd seen of Peggy in the following years, had seen the way her eyes lit up whenever she referenced her husband, Daniel. It was like she came alive just by saying his name. Would she have picked Daniel if Steve had still been there? Would she have been as happy as she was?

It's a loaded question, an impossible question, and Steve doesn't try to answer it. Peggy was happy — that's what matters. They'd missed their chance but maybe it was for the best. She'd had Daniel and he now has Sharon.

Sharon, who's a runner when it comes to emotional matters, but as fierce as Peggy when it comes to an actual fight. Who's braver than she gives herself credit for, and funnier than she knows. Who can smile at him and make him dizzy, or cry and leave him completely lost. Who will gladly stuff a burger in her face than pick at a salad.

Sharon, who he loves.

Who is also still sobbing. Steve turns her over in his arms, letting her head rest on his chest and her tears soak his shirt. He hates this. All day he's felt helpless, wanting to make her feel better but not knowing how. It didn't help that she wouldn't tell him. If she did, he could stop doing it. Though he wasn't exactly comfortable with when the sobbing began. While he was asleep. Did she start crying because she felt that she could do it while he was asleep? Or was it something he said in his sleep?

Steve doesn't remember most of his dreams — or, rather, he purposely tries not to. The first few months out of the ice, all he could dream about was going into the ice, and reliving that every night was awful. Once those nightmares died down, his dreams became more memories of the past — Peggy, waiting for their dance, Bucky, falling from the train — always leaving Steve feeling like he'd let them down. So he'd started trying to not remember his dreams, thinking about something random when he woke up (most days it was Sharon) and trying not to remember whatever crazy thing he'd imagined. It made everything easier.

Except if his dreams are now the problem. Because he doesn't know what he's been dreaming about the past two nights, only that he's woken once to Sharon missing from their bed and the other to her sobbing uncontrollably. As his mind starts to imagine everything he could possibly say to her, Steve's left feeling helpless. Again.

He hates it.

It takes time, but Sharon does eventually calm down, though she doesn't fall asleep. He's fairly certain she thinks that he's fallen asleep, because after a while she moves to slip out of the covers. Steve doesn't let her go.

"Stay for a bit," Steve murmurs. "Try and sleep."

"I can't," Sharon says, her voice hoarse from crying.

"Sure you can. You can continue to lay here with me."

Sharon pushes herself away from him, shaking her head. "Not right now, Steve," she says. His heart fractures when she says his name. It's like the movies, when someone's trying to keep their composure, even as everything shatters around them, and then the person they love is there and they haven't given up on them but they're not sure they can move forward, either. "I need to go."

He doesn't fight her as she moves away this time, just stares at the ceiling as she leaves. There's a small, incredibly minute part of him that's glad she's gone, if only because it means he can move. He's used to energy moving through him constantly, but too much time in one position usually knocks him out, and he hasn't been able to move or sleep because of Sharon. He didn't want her to go, but now that she's gone, he can start asking questions.

"FRIDAY," Steve says, waiting for the protocol system to respond, "keep an eye on Sharon for me. Let me know if she tries to leave the Tower."

"Of course, Captain Rogers," FRIDAY answers, ever patient.

"And wake up Natasha. I don't need a knife thrown at my head when I walk in."

Natasha's waiting for him when he exits the elevator onto her floor.

"This couldn't wait until later?" Natasha asks as she slips around the couch, graceful as a lynx. A black robe is wrapped securely around her figure, and her eyes are dark and angry. Whatever he interrupted, he doesn't want to know.

"Sharon told you why she was upset," Steve says, forgoing the question.

"Yes." "What is it?" Steve asks, and he's surprised by how quickly his tone goes from demanding to desperate. Only when it comes to Sharon, he thinks. "What happened? She's been acting weird all day and she hasn't told me a damn thing and I can't figure it out. Did I do something that upset her?"

"Yes," Nat says flatly.

Steve's heart leaps to his throat, and he suddenly feels overwhelmed. He'd known it was his fault, but it still hurts. There's a slight tremble to his voice when he asks, "What did I do?"

"Why are you here, Steve?" Nat asks instead, a silent reminder that it's Sharon's secret to tell, not hers. "It's seven in the morning."

"She was crying when I woke up."

Steve watches as Nat debates whether or not to tell him. Sharon and Nat were friends long before Steve started dating her — Nat had even suggested Sharon back when she was pretending to be Kate — and he knows there's a sacred bond between the two spies. Two different backgrounds, but the same job, the same tricks. But he and Nat are friends as well, share a history of close encounters and fighting side by side. It's a double edged sword — betray Sharon and tell Steve, betray Steve and don't — but Natasha's always been a master of playing both sides.

"It's something you said in your sleep," Nat says. She doesn't elaborate, because that would be revealing what's ultimately Sharon's secret, though it brings Steve's fears back into play. He doesn't remember his dreams, hasn't in a few years, and he's not about to start trying to remember them now.

But what could he possibly say to hurt Sharon that much? That he didn't love her? Did he keep reminding her that he wanted kids and a family even though she didn't? Or was he dreaming about the past?

His past has always been a shaky subject with Sharon. She knew the stories from Peggy and even a few from him, but explaining something that she would never experience herself was always a challenge. She could read about the war and his part in it, how they'd won and how many lives had been lost, but she'd never understand what it was like to live through it. She'd never understand how badly he'd wanted that fight, how it'd called to him like a destiny. And she'd never understand how he would've been completely content to never come out of the ice.

He'd lived a full life before. Living now was an extension he hadn't asked for.

And it made talking about the past difficult. How could he tell Sharon that he'd already lived a full, happy life, even before she'd entered it? How could he tell her that he would've been okay with dying, with never meeting her? That wasn't how love worked. People were supposed to feel like all their days had been building to this time with their significant other, and only after finding them could their lives be fulfilled. Yet he'd lived a full life long before Sharon was born. He couldn't give his past to her entirely, because he didn't know how to justify it. She'd never understand it. It was easier the way it was now, with his past belonging entirely to Bucky and Peggy.

Steve tries to hold it together even though he feels like he's just been stabbed in the heart.

"Peggy."

"Morning, Cap," Tony calls as Steve steps into the lab. They're nowhere near where they used to be — the phrases Together and So was I still ring in his head from time to time, reminding him of what he lost, even if it was all for Bucky — but they're coming back around. Little things, like greetings, have helped a lot, as has occasionally duking it out and drinking a bit afterwards.

It's a start.

"Tony," Steve says, sitting on one of the stools, far away from any of the hologram screens Tony's using. "I need your help."

"I'm assuming this has everything to do with my darling, faux baby sister?"

"It does."

Tony turns to him, giving Steve his undivided attention. "Do you know what you did?" he asks. "I'm not trying to pry, but it's always easier to figure out a solution when you know the problem. Especially with Sharon."

"I think I know," Steve says, focusing on not shifting his stance. He's always hated showing discomfort. "I think I said… something about Peggy in my sleep."

"Please tell me you didn't say, 'I love you, Peggy.'"

Steve clenches his jaw, trying to ignore the twitching muscle in his cheek. "I don't know. All I know is I said something in my sleep, and there aren't many things I can say asleep that will bother Sharon this much. But saying that would certainly do it."

"Shit," Tony says quietly. "Any chance you can prevent it?"

"How, Tony?" Steve asks, standing. He runs a hand through his hair and fights the urge to fully panic. "I don't even remember my dreams. I taught myself that because I kept having nightmares. I can't exactly switch it back on, and even if I could, I couldn't stop myself from talking in my sleep."

"Fair point," Tony says, moving between hologram screens. "Okay. Well, let's look at this objectively. Sharon hasn't run away yet — that's a huge point in your favor. It means she's willing to work it out. Also, she's not in zombie mode like she was after her parents death, so she's at least better than then. Downside is there's no telling how long it'll take for her to come around, and since she seems to be doing worse than yesterday, being around you isn't helping her come to terms with it."

"I'm not breaking up with her," Steve says and he can feel the panic rise like bile in his throat. "Never."

Tony has the good sense to look upset. "I'm not ordering you to, Steve," he says. "I'm just saying… consider it."

"No way," he says, pacing. "I can't break up with Sharon."

"Then let her break up with you."

"Do you hear yourself, Tony?" Steve asks, his mind flashing to another time when they were arguing about something much worse, with lasting consequences that changed the team. This time it feels more personal.

"I do," Tony says, nonchalantly. "I don't want you to break up with her, either. She loves you, and she's happier than I've seen her in years when she's around you. But I'm saying that if you can't break up with her, give her the option to break up with you." Tony pauses, his face contorting into the same hopeless expression Steve's felt all day. "It's what I did with Pepper. I couldn't break up with her, but she was miserable. I failed her, time and time again. I promised to stop and I didn't, and I knew I was upsetting her but I couldn't make myself order her away. So I let her walk away. It hurts like hell, but if it makes her happy… it's an option you need to consider, Steve."

"How do you know Pepper's happier now? How do you know Sharon would be? What if working it out made her happier instead?"

"I hope that's the case, Steve, I really do. But Sharon's miserable right this second, and I'm worried that if she stays around you then she'll keep getting worse. The breakup doesn't have to be permanent. It can just be a break."

This is what emptiness feels like, Steve thinks, staring blankly at Tony. There's no response that could argue the logic, nor is there any way to explain how terrible it leaves Steve feeling. It's like someone's scooped out all of his organs and only left him as a skeleton with a painfully hard heartbeat. Because it is an option. And even though he hates it, it's worth considering.

Tony claps him on the shoulder, his face mirroring Steve's own. "Remember, it's not the only option," he says. "You and Sharon aren't Pepper and I. You guys work in a completely different way. And Sharon's happy with you, happier than I've seen her be in a very long time. I don't want you guys to breakup, either, because I'm grateful for how happy you make her. I'd love it if Sharon was always happy. But she's miserable right now and all I'm saying is… consider it if all else fails."

Steve still feels like an echo as he says, "Thanks, Tony."

"I'm heading upstate for a few days," Sam says as Steve steps into the elevator, as if he'd been waiting for him. He probably had.

"Is that so?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. "You're not doing it to avoid an awkward car ride, are you?"

"That's like eighty percent of why I am," Sam says, grinning. "The other twenty is Wanda, Rhodey, Vision, and I have been working on this flying attack and we'd like to work out the fine details before we show off."

"I like the initiative," Steve says, trying to smile. He's glad that the team is working together again, that they're rejoining despite the divide he and Tony created, but he wishes Sam would be joining them on the ride back. Sam always had the fine touch when it came to getting Sharon to talk. Now Steve was looking at a long, awkward car ride back to DC with his girlfriend.

"It'll be okay," Sam says, as if he were reading Steve's mind. "Sharon's not the same girl she was at the beginning. She's not a runner anymore, anyone can see that. You two will figure it out."

"What if we can't, Sam?" Steve asks. "She's not a runner, but she also won't talk to me about the situation. All I know is I'm hurting her without meaning to, and it's killing her, and that's killing me. What if I keep hurting her and she's never able to talk to me about it? What if it just gets worse?"

"Never knew you were the type to freak out about what ifs," Sam says, his voice oddly amused for the situation. Steve glares at him. "None of us know what will happen, Steve. What I do know is you two work. You've both got issues galore, but in the past year I've seen you guys work out some of those problems together. You two are good at that. You better each other. Some issues take time, but I have faith in you and Sharon."

"How is it you don't have a girlfriend?" Steve quips, standing. "Speeches like that, you'd have them all swooning."

"Don't make this about me right now," Sam says, grinning again. "We can solve that issue later."

"Thank you, Sam," he says sincerely, smiling a bit. "I'll see you in a few days."

"Take her to a burger joint," Sam calls as Steve steps onto the elevator. "You know how much Sharon loves those."

He feels like a stranger in his own apartment.

It's like the entire universe has stopped and everything is right and wrong at the exact same moment. There's music playing low in the background, an old jazz band that Steve loves, and that's normal for them to have something playing while they're home, yet it feels like putting a bandaid over a bullet hole. It's temporary and isn't going to work and damn it this is the moment that influences the rest of their lives.

Steve's trying not to freak out.

The car ride back to DC wasn't as awkward as he'd been expecting. They hadn't talked much, but Sharon at least held his hand during the ride. He'd taken it as a sign of improvement. And when they'd stopped to eat at her favorite burger place, she'd grinned at him like she was the sun, and he'd felt so happy, so optimistic, that he wasn't sure he had a heart anymore. He couldn't even speak. He'd just smiled at her and thought, this is normal, even though it wasn't supposed to be.

And now they were back in their apartment, trying to act normal, yet every action said they weren't okay. When Sharon was picking the music, she'd originally selected a rock group that she liked, but when a breakup song came on she'd nearly broken her foot to get the remote. And when Steve was unpacking, he'd frequently paused and held one of Sharon's shirts and tried not to think it could be the last time he'd put them in the drawers.

It was like they didn't know how to be Sharon and Steve anymore.

He tries not to take it as a bad omen.

It's two in the morning and he's almost finished with his fourth mission report when Sharon steps into the living room. She'd gone to bed a few hours earlier, and he'd planned on joining her when he was certain she'd be asleep, but each time he considered it, he remembered the crying and his thoughts derailed from there.

Now, she slips into the seat across from him at their kitchen table, her face an unreadable mask. He glances at her but doesn't dare speak. He's heard the phrase about the world balancing on a needle head before, but this is the first time Steve's actually felt it, and it's perhaps the worst feeling he's ever felt. Every breath feels dangerous, every twitch of the hand or blink of the eye could send everything tumbling down, and so he forces himself to stay silent and wait for her to speak.

It's a good half hour before she does.

"You said her name in your sleep."

"Peggy's?" Steve asks, his voice alert and terrified and knowing.

"Yes."

He watches Sharon's face crumble then, watches the years of training and distancing fail because for once she's in a situation too difficult to manage. He can feel his own face fall, can feel his heart sink low into his stomach, then further down into his toes. Everything drains from him — blood, passion, hope — pooling at his extremities, leaving him feeling heavy and sad. He's thought a million things of Sharon — that she's beautiful, selfless, courageous, bold, intelligent, reckless, fierce, funny — but he's always thought her most important quality was her strength. She held herself like she could carry the entire universe on her shoulders and not flinch, like she was as indestructible as the Hulk and dared anyone to test the theory. He knows it's not true, that she's riddled with as many insecurities as he is, but perhaps that's the best quality of all — her ability to be a solid pillar even when she doesn't feel like it.

She's shattering now.

The helplessness is back, and Steve can't help but wonder if the rest of his life will feel like this. If he'll always feel helpless because he hurt the person he loves most. He hates himself for it, but Steve considers the breakup option, if only because it could make Sharon happier in the long run. He'd never recover, never find someone like her again, but her happiness has always mattered most. He could throw himself into avenging, bring back his reckless habits.

Bucky would be pissed, but he couldn't blame Steve, either.

"Your uncle, Daniel," Steve starts, the words coming out in awkward pauses, "did Peggy… did she love him?"

He didn't think Sharon could look more upset or defeated than she already did, but another something slips from her face and he hates himself for it. He knows they won't be the same after this — the best he can hope for is that they'll be better, stronger, and the worst is that they won't be a they — but Steve's also terrified that any of his next words might be the last straw, where he loses Sharon because he's broken her too much.

"Yes," she murmurs, staring at the tabletop. "She loved him and he loved her and she also loved you. Fuck." Sharon stands, moving away from the chair blindly, the heels of her palms pressed to her eyes. "Fuck. Why are you doing this to me, Steve? First you say her name in your sleep and all I can think is that you want me to be her, which means that you're only with me because of her. Damn it."

"That's not true," Steve protests, albeit weakly.

"I can't keep doing this," Sharon says, unyielding. "I'm not Sharon, I'm never Sharon. I'm always Peggy's niece, the Carter legacy. Fuck." She winds her fingers tightly through her hair. "I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot."

"What about this situation aren't you getting, Steve?" Sharon demands. "Nobody ever sees me without seeing Peggy, and I was the biggest fool in the universe for thinking that you, of all people, would see me instead of her. Did I forget you're Captain freaking America? You of all people have the goddamn right to look at me and think about Peggy. This is why I couldn't talk to you about it, because I can't blame you for it. I'm so stupid."

"You're right," Steve says when he's sure she's stopped, "sometimes I look at you and think of Peggy." He knows he's on dangerous terrain, knows that the harsh truth is lodged in his throat, and even though he hates it, hates that it's going to hurt her even more, he let's himself speak it.

Let her hear it, let her choose.

"When you're being particularly stubborn, I think about how stubborn Peggy was. And when we're in the middle of a fight and taking down bad people, I think about how you got your morals and fierceness from Peggy." He swears he can see Sharon's heart breaking as he speaks, not one solid, quick motion but an ongoing tumble that's killing him as much as it's killing her. "And yes, there have been times where I've almost called you Peggy because sometimes you act just like her and I forget. But that doesn't mean I don't see you, Sharon, and it doesn't mean I want you to be Peggy."

"That sounds like that's exactly what it means," she says, her voice thick.

"It doesn't," Steve says. "I loved Peggy, but she loved a different Steve. I'm not the Steve I was, Sharon, but everyone around me thinks I am. They think I'm always Captain America, that I've always been and always will be him. They don't know that I've changed. The guy Peggy knew, that's not me anymore. I don't think Peggy would like this new me."

"This new you wouldn't exist if you hadn't gone under the ice. She would've had the same Steve she had during the war."

Steve shakes his head. "I don't think so," he says, his voice quiet from the truth he could never admit to himself. "I can't imagine a life without war, Sharon. I'm always looking for the next fight, the next mission. If I hadn't gone under, I would've seen the war come to an end and then what? I don't think I could've lived without it. The war meant everything to me. It was a chance for me to prove myself, and all it's proven is that there's no Steve Rogers or Captain America without a war.

"Peggy moved on, and I'm glad she did," he continues. "She deserved a normal life after the war, and as much as I wish I'd gotten my dance with her, I don't think we would've lasted. She deserved more than a life of fighting." Give her the option to walk away. "And so do you."

Sharon was staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "What are you saying, Steve?"

"I'm saying," he began, his mouth drying and his heart seizing, "I'll understand if you want to… walk away from this."

"Are you breaking up with me?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm just — I'm giving you the option."

"You're giving me the option. To break up with you."

"Exactly."

He isn't sure how much time passes, only that it does, and each moment is another one he'll never recover from and God, this hurts. Sharon's not even looking at him — she's focused entirely on her hands, which are splayed across the table like they could tell her secrets about the future. They can't.

"I'm going to ignore that idea for now," Sharon says eventually, still staring on her hands, "and focus on the other issue. You don't want me to be Peggy?"

"We don't get to choose who we remind people of in our line of work, Sharon," he says instead. "Nobody sees me without seeing Captain America. Nobody sees Tony without seeing Iron Man. Unfortunately, nobody sees you without seeing Peggy. But that's not a bad thing, and it doesn't mean I want you to be Peggy, either." He risks leaning across the table and folding her hand in his. She doesn't pull away. "I want you to be Sharon, which means being a mix of like and unlike Peggy."

"That still sounds like you want me to be here," Sharon says, but she sounds more like herself now. Almost happy.

"Like I said, if you were her, you wouldn't like this new me."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not. Because I like you."

Steve eyes her, trying to see if her improved mood is ready for his teasing. He tries. "Last I checked, you loved me."

"You're such a romantic," Sharon teases, and it's the first smile he's seen in two days that's been real and meant for him (because the grin at the burger joint was definitely dedicated to the burgers). "It's kind of nauseating."

Steve raises an eyebrow, waiting.

"Who gave you the breakup idea anyway?" Sharon asks, circling around the table to Steve. "Was it Tony? It sounds like a Tony thing. I might kill him for almost giving me a heart attack. And try not to say his name in your sleep. I won't recover from that."

Steve laughs outright at that, tugging Sharon into his arms and kissing her. He doesn't feel whole yet, and he knows she doesn't either, but they'll bounce back, and they'll be better from it. Stronger. Happier.

Together.

So. That's that. Ending this was really difficult, but I'm glad with how it turned out. And thank you all again for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following!