"Sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to be near them."
Veronica Roth


Natasha's inner battle against the demons that had arisen since her attack, had become even more ferocious than ever ,much to her annoyance, and had caused her to become even more conserved than before. Regularly now her slumber was disturbed by vivid images and visions of her attack, along with all the pain it had inflicted, usually she would have retired to Clint's room where he would comfort her in his usual way, no fuss, no questions, just his presence. However Clint had recently been assigned to a mission of unknown duration, and despite his assurance that he could always stay and allow someone else to take it, her refusal to reveal anymore weakness inclined her to deny his offer, despite the fleeting spark of fear that struck at the thought of his absence. She had a vicious desire to fight back against the scars of that fateful night, to resume her somewhat normal existence in which she didn't relive it every night, didn't feel the stab of the knife, didn't hear the rasp of his rough voice; and didn't see his wicked smirk as he watched her bleed. Him. Just the thought of him made her sick to her stomach, and induced a shiver that travelled to her very core. Despite her resilience to the nightmares that plagued her, it had been four days since Clint's departure and this particular night the nightmare seemed as vivid as ever, she could feel the air leaving her lungs, could feel her body wracking and wrenching as it desperately tried to breathe and so with a violent sob that ripped through every cell in her body she awoke. Tears poured down her cheeks and the only sound she could hear was her own frantic gasping against the stark silence of her room, sitting up she palmed her hands over her face anxiously trying to dispel the unease that clung to her so brutally.

Since their parting at the graveyard all those months ago and their recent traumatic reunion, Natasha had not had time to revel in the returning and much missed presence of the soldier. He had saved her in more ways than she would care to admit, and she would never be able to forget the look of utter relief and joy that had embellished his features so beautifully when she had first awoken, the way her hand seemed to fit so perfectly in his and the gentle tone of his voice that soothed in a way she could never have imagined. Although since her attack, and her refusal to discuss it Steve had rather distanced himself from her, not out of malice but out of care and concern and the gentlemanly manners he always displayed. He gave her space because he thought that was what she wanted, what she needed. Surrounded by the sinister darkness; menacing silence; and the remnants of her nightmare another wave of tremors wracked her body violently. With that thought she swung her legs out of bed and made her way towards the one person she needed right now.

Since being thawed and brought to the future Steve had never been able to sleep peacefully, his mind poisoned by guilt he felt over the people he'd left behind, the life he had lost, the world he had willingly sacrificed himself for. His dreams were addled with the people he had loved and sacrificed, the ones that had borne the brunt of his acts of heroism that in the end had inflicted unimaginable emotional pain not only on them, but on himself too. With the weight of his anguish lying heavy on his chest, during his slumber his body unleashed his emotional unrest as he tossed and turned, the sheets tangling up in his limbs. With the sound of a knock at his door, Steve awoke easily from yet another troubled slumber and made his way across the room intrigued by a visitor at such a late hour. On opening the door he was met by Natasha clothed in what was clearly her pyjamas, consisting of plaid shorts and a loose white camisole, she looked bewildered and disoriented as he noted the tear tracks that trailed down her cheeks and the way her body shook ever so slightly,

"May I come in?" Her voice sounded frail and weak, lacking the usual strength and confidence she typically emanated. As soon as she spoke Natasha saw the wave of concern sweep over his features, causing his clear sapphire eyes to exude the kind of sympathy that provided comfort rather than condescension, and in that moment she felt the uncomfortable and unfamiliar yearning to be encapsulated and held in his arms. Hurriedly Steve stepped aside to allow her inside, his voice soft and gentle, laced with worry,

"Yeah sure, come in." Padding across the room warily she placed herself comfortably on his bed, bringing her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, her chin resting upon her knees as she gaze flitted anxiously around the room. Upon closing the door Steve turned to bestow his attention back upon the spy he so cherished, his heart momentarily shattered at the sight before him. She looked so small, so vulnerable and so unlike herself; he found the strong need to hold her, to tell her that whatever it was that was troubling her it would be alright. Placing himself on the edge of the bed by her feet, he rested his hands in his lap, his long fingers winding and curling in and out of each other as he contemplated what to do next. Natasha's eyes clocked on to this nervous tick, she stared in utter wonderment at how despite his looks he was still just the timid boy from Brooklyn with strong morals; a clear sense of righteousness; and an inherent problem with talking to women. Amongst the severe silence that had befallen the pair Steve's voice filtered through, worried for the striking woman before him,

"Nat, what's wrong?" Her instinct was to refrain from answering such questions, to straighten her stance, wipe any traces of emotion from her features and flatly reply with some dismissive retort or sarcastic quip. However with his tender and caring gaze permeating her well constructed facade, her will weakened rapidly, and before she knew it she had succumbed to his concern. Pausing for a moment she mumbled despondently,

"Nightmare." The shame of her admission taunted her and induced her arms to squeeze hard around her legs, as she envisioned the face of her handler striking the frightened child that she once was, goading her for her fear teaching her that to be scared was weakness, was a chance for the enemy to attack, to destroy you. Clattered by the trauma of her memory she once again wished that Clint was here, he knew her, he knew the nightmares that now tore at her scratching and clawing at her insides in a slow agonizing manner. She didn't have to explain, he knew. But he wasn't here, and so as her nightmares had increased in intensity and her resistance to the distress they induced wavered, she found herself ashamedly confiding in Steve. Ironically he was the last person who had caused shame to trouble her composed frame, during her absence from his presence she missed him, yearned for him and wanted him in a manner she shouldn't. She couldn't. Sensing her unease and discomfort, he deduced that the only way to comfort her was to impose vulnerability upon himself, and that he could do easily. Taking a deep breath, his fingertips continued to weave in and out, their speed increasing ever so slightly, he softly hushed,

"I get them too, mostly they're about Bucky or when the plane went into the ice... more recently though they've been about... you." Now he definitely felt exposed, he was incredibly aware of his fondness of the red headed spy, but to admit it to said woman was another thing entirely, he knew he hadn't succinctly said it but he undoubtedly knew she would have read between the lines. Embarrassed he turned his head away from her, his gaze moving to the other side of the room as a red flush crept up his neck and coloured his cheeks readily, awaiting a response that would ultimately be a cold dismissal. However he was pleasantly surprised by the intrigued question that fell from her lips instead,

"Me?" Turning back towards her he saw the genuine look of bewilderment that rarely featured upon her face, as she looked at him intently waiting for his response. This interest, rather than intimidating him, incited the scarce feeling of trust in him, reducing his feeling of weakness and allowing him to believe that to open up to her would benefit them both. His fingers had now halted their fidgety weave, however it had now shifted to his thumbs, which now tumbled over one another, brushing gently against each other with each spin, his eyes refusing to meet hers as he watched his hands and answered,

"Yeah... I guess that night affected me more than I thought." Despite his confession on the balcony a mere week ago, her eyes scoured over his face looking for the tell that would indicate his words were sourced from the desire to comfort, not fact. However with her gaze vehemently studying his face she could find no tell. He too felt the disturbing repercussions of that night, coercing a rare feeling of connection, and one that she had not encountered in a long while. In accordance with this unspoken bond she uttered,

"My nightmares include that night too." Alarmed by her admission, his hands stilled and his clear azure eyes studied her closely taking in the attractive pucker of her crimson lips; the captivating sparkle of her emerald orbs; and the flawless skin that caused her to positively glow in the low light of his bedside lamp. Noting that despite their comforting exchange her body remained stiff and rigid, he knew better than anyone that tonight Natasha could not be left alone, and if he was brutally honest after seeing her like this he couldn't leave her. Hesitantly and nervously he enquired,

"Would you... do you... umm... want to stay?" Her bright eyes now transferred swiftly from her fidgety feet, to his face upon which she allowed a soft and grateful smile to embellish her lips. Her muscles seemed to release their tension, as if his invitation had relieved her of a great burden, and another show of weakness which she wasn't sure she could cope with right now. With a nod of acknowledgement and acceptance, she replied, her voice radiating warmth and gratitude,

"Thanks." Wriggling backwards she tucked her feet under the covers and snuggled under, an action that provoked an adoring smirk to grace the lips of the super soldier, as he amused himself at how a deadly spy could be equally as endearing. Grabbing the blanket that lay draped over the bottom of his bed, Steve prepared to make a bed on the floor beside her, insisting on respecting her boundaries and implementing the gentlemanly conduct he always displayed. Eyeing him questionably, her brow lowered and on the bridge of her nose quizzical creases appeared before she figured out what he was doing, and abruptly interrupted him by sending a pillow towards his face. As it hit him, she teasingly reprimanded him,

"Hey... you idiot, you can still sleep in your bed." Recovering from the pillow assault he looked towards her, his features were momentarily held by the handsome expression of suppressed amusement, before she saw the genuine concern that glistened in his clear azure eyes,

"Are you sure?" In response to his considerate enquiry, her features softened notably and a appreciative smile shaped her plump crimson lips, before she politely answered,

"Positive." Returning the blanket to its rightful place and procuring the pillow she had thrown, he made his way to the other side of the bed, turning off the bedside lamp before placing the pillow on the bed and sliding under the covers. His heart pummelled rhythmically against his chest, hard enough for him to take notice of the effect he had on her, the effect that had haunted him ever since their parting at the grave yard. After a moment of silence he felt her shift beside him, turning towards him, within the darkness he could make out her silhouette and the enchanting sparkle of her eyes, along with the soft inhale and exhale of her breath. Despite her sometimes cold demeanour on occasions like this Natasha yearned for touch, for contact, to just be held and with the knowledge that Steve would never breach her personal space himself she boldly made a move. It surprised her how nervous she felt, it was not usual of her to feel this way, and she wriggled her feet together in response to the discomfort she felt from such a rare emotion. Sliding her hand across the mattress she found his hand down by his side, their fingers brushing softly against each other initiating a unified surge of attraction and chemistry that neither had encountered in a long time. Gently she slotted her fingers in between his, the warmth of his skin caressing her palms, and allowing her to sink into his touch. As she did so, Steve finally found his composure and so allowed his fingers to curl around her hand their fingers interlinking perfectly as though carved and created by the hands of fate for this particular moment. As they both relaxed into each other's touch, Steve's thumb traced circles delicately along her ivory skin marking her permanently and ensuring she could never forget the way he handled her with such care and attentiveness. Closing her eyes she willingly succumbed to the comforting presence he unknowingly emanated, her breaths evened out as the cloak of sleep encapsulated her; the last thing she remembered was the feel of his hand on hers. That night both of the Avengers slept peacefully, a rare occurrence for them both, and it was undeniable that whatever they had left behind in that grave yard, whatever emotions and feelings they had denied themselves so adamantly this evening had reignited the meagre ashes of affection that had burned steadily for all those lost days. Within the shadows cast by the trauma that haunted them, they found light, hope and support in each other, and for now that was enough.