Hey, guys! So, first off I just want to start by saying thank you! All the favorites, follows, and reviews were so wonderful to see, so thank you!

For this chapter, the first italicized lyrics are from Mumford and Sons' song Below My Feet. The lyrics at the end of the chapter are from Ghosts That We Knew.

I own neither the lyrics nor Captain America.

Enjoy!

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Ch. 2: Below My Feet

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And now I sleep

Sleep the hours and that I can't weep

When all I knew was steeped in blackened holes

I was lost

Keep the earth below my feet

For all my sweat, my blood runs weak

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Natasha was running, running. Trying to escape the voices, the screams of the dead. There was nothing around her but shiny black floors and shiny black walls that reflected her own, terrified, blood-covered face back to her. Guilty. She looked so guilty. But not guilty enough, it seemed. She rubbed furiously at the blood on her hands, trying to get some of it off, but it was no use. Her hands were so red, permanently red. Stained. Like her heart. She kept running. She just had to keep running. The screams seemed to fade for a moment. Suddenly they were louder than ever. Cries of anguish and of pain. Cries that said tears were being shed as flesh was ripped. Natasha fell to her knees, the blood covering her making her slip on the smooth black floor.

She covered her ears, feeling the blood that was stuck in her already red hair. She screamed, like an animal, trying to drown out the noise of her victims'. But it kept getting louder and louder till she felt like her eardrums would burst and her heart would explode out of her chest.

"Stop!" she screamed, feeling tears slide down her cheeks, mixing with blood. "Stopitstopitstopit!"

The voices grew, multiplying, becoming a roar that made her skull vibrate. A loud booming echoed. It pounded, so, so loud. It kept pounding and there was screaming and she was covered in so much blood—

Natasha bolted upright with a gasp, her sheets tangling around her feet, pinning her down momentarily. She heaved with each breath, feeling a moment of panic as she tried to get her legs freed. She heard a loud knocking at the door and nearly jumped out of her skin, remnants of her nightmare stuck to her, like cobwebs. The knocking sounded again, and she realized, that was the pounding she had heard in her dream. Finally managing to get her legs undone, she took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. She pushed sweaty hair back from her face, wishing Maria could get the door, but her roommate was in D.C. for a few days on business.

Natasha padded to their front door, not bothering to put a robe on over her meager black tank top and cotton underwear. Whoever was bothering her at—she glanced at the clock—two in the morning was just going to just have to deal with it. Natasha threw open the door, ready to chew the person out, but when she saw who it was, every ounce of annoyance and anger disappeared from her body.

"Steve?" she said.

He was wearing a hoodie—no shirt underneath—some workout pants, and his sneakers. He also happened to be soaking wet. Natasha quickly glanced to her left and saw that it was, indeed, pouring outside. She hadn't even realized. She turned back to Steve, and she saw a shudder run through his body.

"Hi," he said almost sheepishly. "I…uh…I didn't know where else to go."

Natasha stared at him blankly for a second longer, before grabbing his hand and tugging him inside.

"What do you mean you didn't have anywhere else to go?" She asked once they were seated and he had a cup of hot coffee in his hands. "You do live here, you know,"

He chuckled, running a hand through his slowly drying hair, scattering water droplets. "Yeah, I know I live here…guess I just needed some company. Somebody to talk to."

"And you picked me?" she raised an eyebrow.

Natasha wasn't quite used to having Steve trust her so much. Wasn't quite used to considering him such a close friend. Well…more than a friend, if she was being honest with herself. She wasn't exactly sure what they were, but friends didn't seem like an intimate enough word. Though she would never say it, she really hated saying goodbye to him in the graveyard. It felt like she was cutting one of the few strings that was tethering her to earth. Steve anchored her, gave her a reason to stick around and not bury herself so deep that no one would find her ever again. Not her friends, not her enemies, no one.

"Well," Steve started, breaking Natasha from her thoughts. "Sam's in D.C. with Maria and Tony and Pepper are asleep, so that left you."

"What? You didn't think I'd be asleep, too?"

"Well, no," he shrugged. "I just figured you'd be least likely to shoot me if I showed up at your door at two in the morning."

Natasha laughed. It was one of the realest, most genuine laughs she'd heard from herself in a long time. "Me? You thought I would be least likely to shoot you? Have you met me, Steve?"

Steve laughed then, too, setting his coffee down on the table.

"Shooting you can still be arranged," she teased.

"Mm, tempting, but I think I'll have to pass," he quipped back.

"So, tell me, why are you soaking wet?" she asked.

He got quiet then, looking away from her. His shoulders gave a tiny shrug, there was a slight shake of his head, like he was trying to keep it together.

"Steve," she whispered, gently placing her hand along his jaw, urging him to face her. "Talk to me. That's what you came here for, remember?"

He smiled the tiniest bit but it faded quickly.

"I just, uh, the nightmares were really bad tonight," he said softly, hollowly. "I went for a run to try and clear my head. Clearly that was a bad idea 'cause it started pouring. I just, um, I didn't know who else to go to so I came here."

It had been nearly a month since Steve had seen her in the midst of one of her own nightmares. Then, once she'd curled up next to him, lulled back to sleep by his even breathing and his warmth, she had slept perfectly. Not a dream to be seen.

Now, he sounded as broken as she had felt, like he was trying to hold all the pieces of himself together with just some glue and tape. She knew he had nightmares, but she didn't think they were this bad. She didn't think any of the ghosts he had haunting him could make him like this. He seemed smaller than usual, all curled in on himself, like he was trying to shield himself, much like he shielded other people. Shielded her.

Natasha moved closer to him. She found the zipper on his hoodie and pulled it down till it came free. She pushed the sopping garment off his shoulders and tossed it in the corner. She would dry it later. Steve gave her a strange look.

"Wearing that isn't going to help you get dry," she explained. "Or warm."

She scooted right next to him, pressing her body against his, taking his cold hands in between her own. His hands were so much larger than her own, and she enjoyed the way their hands fit together. Their fingers slid together, locking like puzzle pieces, like they were made for each other.

"What did you dream about?" she asked, repeating the question he'd asked her a month ago.

"Sometimes it's Bucky, sometimes it's Peggy," he replied softly. "Tonight it was the ice."

She sucked in a breath. Natasha knew that he'd been entombed in ice for 70 years. She couldn't imagine it. Worse yet, she couldn't imagine waking up from that and being told that he was in a different century, the whole world he knew ripped out from underneath his feet. Gone, just like that.

"Tell me," she urged.

He swallowed, licked his lips, squeezed her hand just the slightest. "It's cold," he started. "Always so cold. I wake up shivering. I'm in the air and the plane is falling and Peggy is talking to me…I know I'm going to die. I always know I'm going to die. And I can't change it or do anything differently. I'm just in the air and then I'm not."

His voice cracked and he drew away from her, making Natasha shiver at the sudden loss of body heat beside her. She watched as Steve stood, his bare back to her. She gave him a moment of space before standing with him. She walked around in front of him and tried to focus on his face, not on the muscles outlined against his skin that she so desperately wanted to run her fingers over.

"Look, Steve," she whispered, looking up at him, seeing the unshed tears sparkling in his eyes. "I don't know what you're going through. I didn't sleep for seven decades and wake up in a completely different world. I also can't say that I know more about loss than anyone else here, because we've all suffered through immeasurable losses."

She took a breath, keeping his gaze. She felt him reach out and run his fingers up and down her arm as she spoke, raising goose-bumps across her skin.

"I do know a little something about dying, though," she murmured. "I die a little every day."

Steve shook his head. "No," he disagreed. "You are one of the most alive people I have ever seen."

She scoffed, shaking her head like she had. He caught her chin in his hand, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"I mean it," he said firmly. "Like I said, we all have out ghosts. Even with the skeletons you have, it doesn't make you any more dead or alive than other people."

She sighed. "We're a really messed up pair, aren't we?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Do you want to stay?" she asked suddenly, thinking of how, in his arms after their movie night, after her nightmare, he had become her own personal dream-catcher. She'd slept soundly curled up next to him, and she wondered if it would happen again.

"I'd like to, yes." He nodded.

"All right, take off your clothes, then,"

"What?" Steve blushed, his eyes wide with surprise.

Natasha laughed. "Oh, calm down, Rogers. You can keep you underwear on. I just meant the rest of your clothes. Figured you would want it dry."

"Oh, um, yeah." He scratched the back of his neck before kicking off his shoes, and pulling his socks and pants off. He handed her his clothes and she tried not to laugh at how uncomfortable he looked just standing there in his boxers.

Natasha quickly threw his things in the dryer and then walked back into the living room where he was waiting. She tugged on his hand and led him to her bedroom. When she looked back, she smiled a little. She thought he had been awkward in the living room.

She found his awkwardness quite endearing. He was strong, fast, smart—the perfect soldier and the perfect man. The fact that he'd been forced to adapt and change some aspects of his thinking due to the time difference made her glad that he still remained a respectful gentleman. And if he was being a gentleman with her, when so many people before him hadn't been, it made her like him all that much more. Steve had always been himself around her, though, even if he had been distrusting of her for quite some time. Natasha found that being herself around Steve was just something that had happened. She didn't have to dig for her true self around him. She found that the real her came breaking through of its own accord. And he didn't judge her for that. He accepted her and that didn't happen very often.

"Natasha, I, um—" he stammered.

"It's okay, Steve," she soothed.

"I just don't want to give you the wrong idea," he mumbled.

Natasha laughed. "You giving me the wrong idea? Steve, I'm the one who brought you in here. You're fine. I want you to stay."

"You do?"

She nodded, not completely trusting herself to speak. She did want him to stay. She wanted him to stay so bad it hurt. He eased her mind, made sleeping bearable. She felt safe with him, and that was another thing that didn't happen very often.

Natasha shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Besides," she smiled wryly. "You're clothes aren't dry yet. So, unless you want the elevator cameras to catch you going down to your floor from my floor, almost completely naked, then I suggest you stay here for the night."

"Good point," Steve agreed with a smile.

Natasha turned and crawled into her bed. He found his way next to her smoothly, like he'd spent countless nights crawling into her bed. She switched off her bedside lamp and then settled back against him. She didn't mind being the little spoon; his body was like a cocoon, keeping her warm, protected. He shielded her from her own consciousness. She enjoyed the way his breath tickled her neck, the way his arm wrapped around her waist. She was flush against his body, their naked legs touching. The hand around her waist slowly moved, traveling so he was brushing his fingers round in little patterns on her thigh.

She smiled, biting her bottom lip. "That tickles,"

She could practically hear Steve smile. "What about this?"

Natasha was about to ask what he meant when his hand traveled back up to her waist. He slowly hiked up the hem of her tank top, her fingers skimming the skin of her stomach and higher, nearly reaching her breasts. Her breath hitched in her throat and she involuntarily pressed farther against his body.

"What was that about giving me the wrong impression?" she said, her voice coming out a little huskier than usual. Damn, she thought. She didn't think anyone could get her that aroused that fast. Then again, Steve Rogers wasn't just anyone.

He chuckled and she felt his lips against the sensitive skin right behind her ear. She felt a shiver travel down her spine, but she wasn't cold.

"Sleep well, Natasha," he whispered.

Soon enough, the sound of his heart and the rhythm of his breaths, in and out, sang her to sleep like a lullaby.

Once again, wrapped in his embrace, Natasha went without a single nightmare the rest of the night.

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But hold me still, bury my heart on the coals

But hold me still, bury my heart next to yours

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So there's chapter 2! Hope you guys liked it :)

Chapter 3 is almost done and I will update in a couple days :)

Please leave a review! It really means a lot to me and I really liked hearing your guys' thoughts on the last chapter.

Thank you for reading!

-DaughterOfPoseidon333

P.S. Any typos in this chapter are the last one, I apologize; I don't always catch them when I proofread.