A/N: Welcome, everyone! I'm back with the next installment of Kat and Steve's story. Part 2 will chronicle the events of 'The Winter Soldier' and a little bit beyond. It picks up right where the movie does, so let's get to it. Enjoy!

Dawn was approaching in the east, and a warm breeze blew across the Potomac, carrying with it the scent of salt. Steve felt his blood thrumming in his veins, feet pounding on the concrete beneath him. His breathing was steady; unlabored thanks to the serum that allowed him to run for miles on end without pausing to rest. What it didn't allow, however, was his mind to stop racing. Running seemed to be the only way to quiet the thoughts in his head. So he came here, every morning, to try and work out his anxieties.

When the sun had risen high enough over the horizon to be blinding, he'd get on with his day; "head into the office" as he liked to refer to it. Working for SHIELD provided him a welcome distraction though, and it was certainly never boring. The missions came sporadically, but they were constant, and that was enough for him.

Apocalyptic events, however, were few and far between. The attack on New York had been two years ago. Cleanup was still slow-going, but nothing that cataclysmic had happened since. Well, except for that ordeal in London, but Thor had taken care of that without much effort. And the incident that Tony had with the Mandarin... but other than that, things were quiet; everything was peaceful.

Which is how he knew the shit was gonna hit the fan any day now.

Perhaps it was some innate instinct that had arisen with the serum. Or maybe he'd always been a little wary when things began to seem a little too good to be true. But he didn't trust peace, even if he fought tooth and nail for it. And peace without was something he could easily control; peace within, however, was another story entirely.

He still lay awake some nights, thinking about her. Not just her, but her family too. He'd felt at ease around them, something he had desperately missed since coming out of the ice. To have that torn away from him… Well, he supposed he'd thrown it away. It was really his guilt that kept him awake at night. Those words Natasha had said to him after they'd come to D.C. still echoed in his head.

Steve had gone over the scenario in his head a thousand times. He'd been a fool for asking Kat to abandon her life to follow him on some grand adventure. Edith had counseled him to give her time, but… It'd been two years since he'd seen or heard from her. Every few weeks or so, he'd send her a text message, or try to call. But about six months ago, her number had changed and he'd given up trying. It was clear she didn't want to have anything to do with him, so he'd decided to stop bothering her.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, feeling himself slipping into melancholy like he usually did. Up ahead, another figure was jogging steadily around the reflection pool. Steve allowed himself a small smirk as he sped up his pace, arms pumping. It was a little game he liked to play; harmless fun. The other guy always put up a good fight, but Steve always held on to this small slice of pride he allowed himself.

As he caught up to the other jogger, he swung out a bit to get around him. "On your left," he said calmly.

"Uh-huh," the dark-skinned man replied through labored breaths. "On my left. Got it." Steve sped past quickly and kept up his blistering pace. It took him about five minutes to make another lap.

As he sprinted towards the other man, aiming to overtake him once more, he started to speed up. "Don't say it!" he said angrily, breaking into his own sprint. "Don't you say it!"

Steve had to contain his laughter as he blistered past and shouted "On your left!" If they'd been running on a dirt track, the other guy would be choking on his dust by now.

"Come on!" he yelled back, slowing down and eventually coming to a stop.

As he rounded the pool and made another lap, he saw the other guy head towards the shade of a tree, falling heavily against the trunk and catching his breath. Steve made one more pass around the pool and then jogged to a stop in front of the tree, hands on his hips.

"Need a medic?" he teased.

"I need a new set of lungs," the man exclaimed. "Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes."

Steve allowed himself a chuckle. "I guess I got a late start."

"Oh really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap." He stopped and eyed Steve carefully. "Did you just take it?" he joked. "I assume you just took it."

Steve laughed and then asked him, "What unit are you with?" He'd noticed the Air Force insignia on his grey sweater, a shield around a frontiersman, flanked by two jets.

"Fifty-eighth, Para-rescue. But now I'm working down at the VA. Sam Wilson." He wiped a hand on his shorts and extended it towards Steve.

He took it and shook firmly. "Steve Rogers," he replied.

Sam smirked and looked off to the side. "I kind of put that together. Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing."

Steve felt his hand clench at his side involuntarily. The subject still made him slightly uncomfortable. What could he say? Would anyone even understand? "It takes some getting used to," he admitted sheepishly, though a knot was forming in his chest. Steve could feel his anxiety creeping up, and a sudden urge to get away overtook him. "It's good to meet you, Sam." He nodded his head and then turned to go, walking towards the street.

"It's your bed, right?" Sam suddenly called after him.

Steve turned over his shoulder. "What's that?" Something pounded in his head, though he couldn't be sure what.

"Your bed, it's too soft. When I was over there, I slept on the ground and used rock for pillows, like a caveman." Sam laughed and shook his head slightly. "Now I'm home, lying in my bed, and it's like…"

Sam paused but Steve knew exactly how he felt. "Lying on a marshmallow," he cut in. "I feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor." Sam smiled back at him and nodded his head. There was something about this guy, something that he liked. They had a bit in common, it seemed. "How long?" he asked, knowing Sam would understand what he meant.

"Two tours," he replied, laying his head back against the tree trunk. "You must miss the good old days, huh?"

"Well," Steve looked to the side and shrugged slightly, "things aren't so bad. Food's a lot better; we used to boil everything. No polio is good." Memories came back to him and flashed before his eyes. "Internet, so helpful. I've been reading that a lot, trying to catch up." Kat had been the one to show him how to navigate Google and Wikipedia, though she claimed the latter wasn't very reliable.

"Marvin Gaye, 1972," Sam suddenly said. "'Trouble Man' soundtrack. Everything you've missed jammed into one album."

Steve smirked a bit and glanced down at the ground. "I'll put it on the list," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small notebook and pencil. In a hasty script, he scribbled the note right underneath 'Rocky (Rocky II?)' and then stashed the notebook in his pocket again. The buzzing of his phone in his other pocket alerted him, so he fished it out and glanced quickly at the screen.

To this day, his heart still leapt in his chest when he got a notification. At any moment, he expected—or rather, hoped—to see Kat's face show up on the icon. But it wasn't her; it was never her.

'Mission alert. Extraction imminent. Meet at the curb. :)' There was no contact assigned to the number, but he knew it was Natasha all the same. She always attached a smiley face at the end of her text messages to him. Something about it being "less threatening", she'd said.

"Alright, Sam, duty calls," Steve sighed, replacing his phone in his pocket. "Thanks for the run. If that's what you wanna call running."

Sam had the good grace to laugh. Steve extended a hand towards him, and he took it gladly. "Oh, that's how it is?" he teased.

Steve shot him back a smile. "Oh, that's how it is."

"Okay," Sam drawled. "Any time you wanna stop by the VA—make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk-just let me know."

Steve chuckled at him as he walked towards the street, noticing the sleek, black sports car that had just rounded the corner and was hurtling towards him at an alarming speed. "I'll keep it in mind," he called over his shoulder.

Natasha was certainly a sight as she rolled down the window. "Hey fellas," she called in that sultry tone she always used, "either of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil."

Steve gave her a lighthearted sneer. "That's hilarious," he said dryly. Ducking his head, he slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, glancing back over when Sam came up to the window and leaned down to see in. His gaze was a little more than appreciative when he surveyed the car, and its driver.

"How you doin'?" he asked with a lopsided smile.

Natasha just replied with a coy, "Hey." And Steve couldn't help his laugh. Sam didn't know just how over his head he was with this one.

Steve glanced back over with a raised eyebrow. "You can't run everywhere."

"No you can't," Sam replied, shaking his head slowly and smiling. Steve gave him a nod before Natasha punched the gas and they were racing down the street that butted up against the Capitol lawn. The engine purred as she angled it around another corner and headed deeper into the city.

"Dropped by your apartment first," she remarked with a sideways glance. Natasha reached down into the door compartment and tossed a stack of papers into his lap. "Do you ever check your mail?"

Steve sifted through the envelopes and magazines disinterestedly. "Not if I can help it," he mumbled. "And since when do you have a key to my building? Or my mailbox, for that matter?"

Nat gave him a wry smile. "Who said anything about keys?"

Steve really shouldn't have been surprised, but the thought rattled him all the same. The incident with his break with Kat had shown him Natasha was meddlesome… He worried at just how meddlesome she could be. With a sigh, he straightened the papers and laid them down on the floorboard, to be disposed of when they reached the Triskelion.

"So what's the mission?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Fury didn't say much," she admitted, "just that there's a situation aboard a ship. Must be a big enough deal to call the two of us in."

"Or maybe it's not, and we're not the big deals we think we are." It was meant to be a joke, but Steve couldn't tell if the look of wounded pride on Natasha's face was genuine or not.

"Well, I guess there's a reason they didn't call you Captain Encouragement," she shot back. But there was a light in her eyes that told Steve he wasn't in deep water.

Over the past eighteen months, Natasha had been a constant presence. Always there when he was down, and ready to cheer him up. They'd developed a close friendship, and a close bond from the numerous missions they'd run together. It was nice, having someone he could talk to and not fear ridicule.

"It's probably the same reason they don't call you Garden Spider," he quipped back.

Her head whipped around to look at him. "Touché, Captain," she complimented. "Seems you're getting the hang of this verbal sparring thing."

A few moments later and they were pulling into the underground parking garage at the Triskelion. There never seemed to be a day when it wasn't packed with vehicles, and today was no exception. But somehow, Natasha had finagled herself a designated parking spot.

Steve unbuckled his seatbelt and bent over to pick up all the junk mail. There was a trashcan next to the elevator, so he could be rid of it soon. As he swung his legs out of the car, an envelope he hadn't noticed before fell to the ground.

It wasn't long and rectangular, like the solicitations and credit card offers he held in his hand. This one was more of a square, and the envelope itself was made of a cream-colored papyrus. Slowly, he squatted down and picked it up, turning it over in his hand to look at the front face.

All it said was his name and address, written in a flowing, cursive script with a blue pen. No return address; no indication of who it might be from. Natasha was suddenly standing above him, peeking over his broad shoulder.

"Love letter?" she asked teasingly.

Steve gave a slight shrug. "Not sure, there's no sender listed."

Natasha's hand appeared in his peripheral vision as she pointed to the upper right-hand corner. Right next to the stamp, showing an image of an American flag waving in the wind, was a postmark.

'BROOKLYN, NY. 28 MAY 2014.'

"There's your clue," Natasha said quietly, standing straight up once more. Slowly, Steve stood from his crouching position, never taking his eyes off the letter in his hands. Something twinged in his chest; maybe his heart. He couldn't tell. It'd been cold for so long now, he'd almost forgotten how this felt. "Let's go inside," Natasha continued, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Without a word, he nodded and followed behind her as they headed for the elevator.

He dumped the other mail unceremoniously into the trash can, keeping his grip on the cream-colored envelope tight. In silence, they stepped onto the elevator, and Natasha leaned over to punch the button for the floor they needed. The sound of Steve's heartbeat filled his head, drowning everything out.

When the elevator stopped, the glass walls still only showed concrete all around them. He looked to Natasha and she gave him a sympathetic glance. "Take some time," she offered as the doors slid open to reveal a long, sterile hallway.

Steve recognized it as the floor that housed the locker rooms. On this same floor, was a small space meant just for him; a sort of lounge-area where he could retreat to, go over mission docs, workout on his own personal equipment and take a shower afterwards. It was nice to have, in case he ever needed to escape.

Like he did right now.

As he walked down the hallway, away from the closing doors of the elevator, he could feel his hands beginning to shake. It seemed like the only thing he could focus on was getting to his retreat, locking the door behind him and shutting the world away.

Two years… Two years without any contact. Why now? What's happened? Or maybe it isn't her at all… But who else could get my address here?

When the door to his retreat finally appeared, he let out a small sigh of relief. He flipped on the lights as soon as he walked in, shutting the door behind him hard and grappling with the deadbolt for a few seconds longer than he normally would have. But his hands were shaking so badly, he couldn't help it. Quickly, he crossed the carpeted floor to the sitting area at the far side of the room, sitting down in the chair positioned next to the low table.

He drew his breath in slowly, trying to will away the ringing in his ears. Eventually, he'd calmed himself enough that he could think clearly once again. But his nerves still ran wild. It was a miracle he hadn't crushed the envelope in his grip yet. It still looked pristine, unblemished even though it had traveled nearly 300 miles to get to him from… from home.

Steve turned the envelope over, taking care not to rip the papyrus as he pried the flap open. Inside was a piece of stationery, folded in two in order to fit inside the envelope. The paper was thick; not quite like cardstock, but smooth underneath his fingers. He drew the paper out of the envelope and then set it aside, unfolding the stationery to look at the note written there.

His heart was pounding as he began to read.

Thanks for reading, that's all for now. Please review and tell me what you think! :)