The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Eleven

Tony Stark officially has the fluffiest towels known to man.

It takes me ages to shower, revelling in the feeling of the warm spray on my aching muscles.

When I do finally convince myself to turn off the heavenly water, the sun is barely visible on the horizon, pink and red clouds slashing across the predominantly purple sky.

Tucking the white towel securely around me, I make my way over to the wardrobe in hopes of finding some fresh clothes. My luck holds as I discover multiple pairs of jeans and leggings, as well as a selection of jumpers and hoodies.

I select a pair of black leggings and a burgundy kitted jumper.

The material seems impossibly soft against my skin. I run my hands up and down the red sleeves in awe, mesmerised by the feeling.

A yawn wracks my body, despite my best efforts to stifle it.

I collapse on the bed, hitting the mattress on my back. My eyes widen as I sink into the marshmallow beneath me, engulfed by its squishy grasp. Rolling onto my side, I shuffle rather ungracefully under the plush white duvet, pulling it up around my chin.

I watch as the sun finally slips from view, the red streaks in the clouds fighting a losing battle of dominance above the shining New York skyline. The city buzzes with activity well after the dark sets in, man made light replacing that of the burning star.

Sighing, I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take me.

After about half an hour I roll onto my back.

And then my front.

And my side again.

Groaning in frustration I lie back, staring at the dark ceiling. Fatigue tugs at my eyelids, yet refuses to take hold, always dancing just out of reach from my outstretched hand.

Finally, I come to one exceedingly vexatious conclusion: the bed is too soft.

Exasperation claws at my brain as I throw the sheets off myself and slide onto the floor, wedging myself in the right-angle between the bed and the window. I pull the duvet down from the bed, cocooning myself in its warm embrace.

Mentally shaking my head at myself, I press my forehead to the cool glass, peering out at the slightly hazy city, blurred by my breath gathering fog on the window.

I stay like that for a while, watching the traffic drift on through the well lit streets.

And it's only then, as I gaze absently out over New York, that sleep finally takes my hand.

*****

"That's Natasha over there."

The redhead smiles at me from further down the table, nodding her head in greeting. I manage a small smile in return, though the effort is astounding. The hard metal of the chair digs stubbornly into my back, only adding to my discomfort.

True to his word, Tony knocked on my door before entering this morning. Now he just needs to work on waiting to be told to come in. To his credit, he didn't comment on finding me curled up on the floor, just stared in shock for a second.

He waited outside for me to sort myself out then dragged me into a long white meeting room, ignoring the daggers I sent his way.

I rub my saw neck with one hand, focusing on the next person in the queue to be introduced.

"Clint."