The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Thirty six

A/N: listen to 'Lonesome town' - Ricky Nelson, 'I'll be seeing you' - Billie Holiday and 'The one that got away' - Katy Perry for this chapter

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"Are you going to go to bed?"

I turn to look over my shoulder at Natasha, only able to make out her silhouette in the darkened room.

"I will in a while." I reply, sending her a smile she probably can't see.

Nat is the last of the Avengers to drift away. Everyone but Bucky stayed to finish the films, complete with multiple arguments over who Bella should've ended up with and whether or not Jacob is technically a paedophile.

By the time the final credits rolled in it was gone eleven at night. We all stayed sprawled out on the sofa for a while longer and I was formally introduced to Sam, who has apparently been away on a mission for the past month. Clint bowed out after starting one last discussion and went to bed. I then heard all about how Steve, Sam and Nat single handedly took down the Hydra infested SHIELD, kicking myself for listening harder to the bits about Bucky.

But soon enough, Wilson had to get home and Steve wandered off to his room, muttering about early training sessions tomorrow. Old men can't handle late nights apparently. And that just left Natasha and I to talk for another half an hour. The conversation remained pleasant and carefully free of any triggering subjects, namely Maurice Mengele. I get the feeling she threatened the rest of the Avengers not to mention the topic either. And for that, I'm extremely grateful.

"Don't stay up too late." The super spy warns from her place by the stairs.

"I won't."

That's a lie.

The woman stays rooted to the spot for a few moments, and though I can't see her green gaze, I can feel its heat studying my face.

I hear a sigh and then she's gone, up the steps and out of sight.

I let out a deep breath of my own, turning back around and facing the darkness in front of me, the room no longer lit up by the TV screen, only the glowing city outside.

Resting my cheek on my tucked up knees, I gaze out silently at New York through the huge window. The millions of lights are mesmerising, some moving along the busy roads, others shining stationary as they reach skywards. I consider each orb of brilliance and the people they represent, all of whom think and feel just the same as me, yet have no idea of my existence. There's thousands of them, some driving to work and some coming home, some lying in four poster beds and others tucking themselves into alleyways to escape the October cold.

One of them is for Peter.

My mind wanders on, imagining what I would be doing right now had I never joined Hydra - had my parents never died.  Would I be enrolled in University right now, working my way towards a diploma? Or would I be waiting tables in a corner shop, saving up to reach some materialistic goal?

I pull my knees tighter to my chest, defending myself against the sudden chill of loss at what could have been. Maybe I would be worse off than I am now, though even the thought makes me scoff.

Working three jobs to make ends meet would still be worth the clear conscience.

I'd rather know how to correctly make a hotel bed than the sixty different ways to kill a man with my bare hands that I can call to mind, just off the top of my head.

A melancholic grief settles in my stomach as I think about the life that was ripped from me the day a man with a machine gun broke into our home. That feeling is soon replaced with acid however as the image of my mother falling to the floor flashes across my mind, her body riddled with holes and haemorrhaging more blood than I've ever seen. I remember a child's pitiful scream and men shouting and the satanic rumbling of gunfire. But most vividly, I remember their eyes; two sets, one green and one amber, fixed in a permanent scream of horror as they stare at me - through me.