Re: log, Manhattan: Sharon C/Steve R
The Captain had moved beyond coffee at this point in the night. The white-light halos that brought brightness caustically to the site, provided by the apparatuses erected by S.H.I.E.L.D. burnt rings in Steve's eyes. He'd hardly even eaten a thing all day, let alone had time to brew anything. He was firmly in the 'hugs and adrenaline' camp at this point, both of those bolstered only by the unshakable foundation of his own willpower, knowing he couldn't need anything now—there just wasn't time. So the breathing was good. He could take the few seconds necessary to center himself in a purposeful exhalation.
It was easier too, with Sharon there, hugging him back, easier to remember that it was alright to take the snatches of time to make sure he wasn't going to fall apart when he was needed. He'd almost snapped at Stark, only to have the man's voice go strained in his ear, as clear as if Tony had been right there next to him, rather than in a bed on another planet. And he couldn't do that. He couldn't put his frustration on other people. They were all dealing with their own.
Steve breathed in the scent of Sharon's hair, letting one palm spread to her back and rub there as comfortingly as it could.
"I've been better," he answered with a hint of levity, but just as honestly. He braced himself, reluctant, and pulled back, hands slipping the bell of Sharon's waist to look down at her. The soldier's smile went cheeky and he tapped Sharon under the chin with the flat of his fingers. "It's nice to see someone else giving the orders."