The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Thirty seven

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

I glance down at Bucky for a moment, my focus more on the task at hand. He watches me with mildly concerned eyes, sculpted arms crossed over his chest.

"It's all good." I dismiss through gritted teeth. Everything in my body strains as I fight to keep a grip on the pipes above me, my feet dangling far from the floor.

There's two reasons Tony has managed to keep his ice cream store private for so long:

1. He's a suspiciously good secret keeper when he wants to be.

2. It's located in an air conditioning vent that happens to be eight feet from the ground.

When Steve bet to show me where it was, he conveniently left out the part about it being almost impossible to get to if you don't have jet propulsion engines attached to your feet.

I clench my jaw as my fingers continue to sweat, my grip on the pipes above my head becoming more and more tenuous.

The specific length of air conditioning vent is in a maintenance cupboard at the end of the corridor outside the main space, just next to the elevator. It was easy enough to get to the piping on the ceiling, a convenient ladder built into the wall to allow access to an electrics panel reaching all the way up. Unfortunately for me, the section of duct that contains the ice cream is above the middle of the room, meaning to reach it you have to climb ten feet along tubing of questionable strength.

So far nothing has broken, including me.

Readjusting my hold, I inch further along the ceiling, now only about a foot away from where I need to be. The climbing wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that the only pipe strong enough to take my weight is a heated one of some kind, warming my hands into a constant state of moistness.

Letting out a small grunt, I traverse the final few inches. Once I'm underneath the vent I look for the specific panel Steve described, eight from the left and able to be popped from its position without much force. I have to pause for a moment, carefully removing one hand to wipe the sweat on my leggings then replacing it on the pipe, before doing the same with the other.

I glance downwards for a moment, catching bucky's concerned blue eyes, a slight wince tugging at his brow.

Ignoring the super soldier's lack of faith and my racing heart, I cautiously nudge the panel with one hand, gritting my teeth against the strain on my left arm. I can feel the old dislocation injury whining at me, a slight aching starting to form around the shoulder joint. The metal sheet doesn't move at first. I push it again, slightly harder, but still nothing.

My arm is about to give out by this point, forcing me to grip the pipe with my other hand to shake allow me to shake out the cramp. I wipe the sweat away again before replacing my hold.

My eyes scan back along the vent, counting the silver panels fastidiously, not once but twice, but still coming to the same conclusion: I have the right panel.

So why isn't it moving?

"Maybe you need to push it harder?" Bucky suggests, watching me struggle with passive curiosity.

I shuffle slightly, making sure my grip isn't going to slip before hanging from one hand again. Acutely aware of how quickly my arm is starting to tire, I waste no time in trying again. Except this time, instead of nudging it gently, I send my fist up with as much force as I can muster.

The panel comes away a hell of a lot easier than I expect it to, so much so that the silver sheet is propelled up against the top of the vent, a loud, metallic bang echoing around the otherwise quiet room.