The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Twenty nine

I go straight to bed after training, not having the energy even for dinner. As soon as my head hits the pillow I'm out cold.

In my dreams I'm sat in the middle of a rooftop, gazing out over a setting sun. The Winter Soldier sits next to me, his ocean eyes resting on the horizon. For once there's no anger or confusion on his features, just a soft calmness, something so rare and special in a place like Hydra.

The half sun sets his face ablaze. His cheeks glow with an orange tinge, brown hair turning a deep maroon in the fiery light. He studies the sky as I study him until finally he turns to me.

Blue pools search my amber gaze, each reflecting that scarce content that is usually so hard to find.

Suddenly those azure eyes turn grey, as if death swirls in their very orbs, a tangible element existing as a wisp of precipitate. And then they're above me as a silver arm clamps over my throat, crushing my windpipe in its merciless grip.

Consciousness is dropped on me like a bucket of iced water. I gasp as I shoot up in the bed, feeling stray drops of sweat escape from my forehead.

The world around me is dark. New York glows through the huge glass window, gently illuminating the room. I let out a sigh, cursing my mind for its inability to give me even one night of rest, for its insistence to taint the few good memories I have.

I try to push away the image of his vacant eyes, yearning instead for the feeling of ease I had moments ago.

A heavy sorrow settles in my stomach as I think back to that evening, the scene surprisingly easy to picture. Everything was well in that moment, or as well as it could be. Hydra's testing on me had finally stopped, Lucy was alive and for the first time in my life, I had someone who understood the torment of my mind.

I had a friend.

I swallow back a lump forming in my throat, swiping a hand across my forehead to collect any spare drops of perspiration. Reaching over, I press the home button of my phone on the bedside table, flinching backwards at its sudden bright flash.

02:17.

My feet seem to move of their own accord, lifting me from the bed and heading for the door. They take me silently down the hallway to the main room, the cold marble floor making my toes recoil in shock.

My eyes find the shadowy figure almost immediately this time. Bucky sits hunched up on the sofa, the side of his face just visible as he stares out at the glowing city framed in the window.

Suddenly I'm all too aware of myself, searching for a logical reason as to why I'm here instead of trying to get back to sleep.

I come up blank.

But instead of turning around, I find myself walking forwards anyway, crossing the dark space with tentative steps.

My eyes stay on Bucky's silhouette as I move. I consider making a noise to alert him to my approach, not wanting to see his reaction when I scare the shit out of him, but there's no need. His head tilts ever so slightly to the side, aware of my presence.

He doesn't look away from the window as I sit down. I leave a careful couple of metres between us, settling into the plush red cushions and bringing my knees to my chest.

We sit in silence for a long while. I start to regret not going back to bed, convincing myself he's going to continue to ignore me until I go away. I don't even know what possessed me to come out here in the first place.