The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Sixty one

I struggle to contain a laugh as I watch Peter take a massive gulp of hot chocolate, the whipped cream sticking to his upper lip and giving him a moustache his face is much too young for.

He wipes it quickly away, a grin of his own spreading across his lips.

Exiting the Avengers tower was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be.

After Peter had tampered with JARVIS and I had donned a cap and sunglasses that obscured most of my face, no one looked twice at us leaving the building.

Thankfully the sun is shining brightly over the streets today, so I just blend in with the thousands of other people walking around in overtly big shades. It must be a fashion trend or something.

Letting out a small sigh, I smile at something Peter says but my mind is elsewhere. I know everything is going to go to plan and no one will know we left until they can't do anything about it, but I can't shake a nagging in the back of my mind.

Then again, I have the same thing when I think of facing Bucky again, so maybe my instincts are askew at the moment.

I try and push thoughts of those two blue eyes far from my mind and be present in what Peter is saying, but the memory of his lips against mine ignites my stomach in a flurry of emotions that I can't even begin to comprehend.

What do I say to him now?

I'm snapped back to reality as the kid's balled up napkin hits me square in the forehead.

"What is with you today?" He asks, playfully disgruntled at my obvious lack of attention.

"Nothing," I mutter, shaking myself. Forcing a smile, I take another sip of my hot chocolate and try not to flinch as it burns my tongue. "So where are we going next, Tour Guide?"

Peter grins at me, happy with his new title.

"I was thinking maybe we check out some of those thrift shops I was telling you about, the ones I got your posters from."

It's my turn to grin now, excitement suddenly setting my veins alight.

"Fine by me." I beam, taking another hit from my hot chocolate and burning my mouth once again.

*****

My head is on rotate as I follow the kid down the pavement, an uneasiness building in the back of my mind like a mounting orchestra. Peter seems completely oblivious to the intense feeling of foreboding I'm picking up on, whether it's because he's a boy or I'm too paranoid, I'm not sure.

Dilapidated apartment blocks tower over us, their broken windows watching us move below them. Colour seems to have escaped the place, like a sepia tone filter has been applied, even the sky appearing dull and grey. The streets around us are deserted and I hate the way our footsteps echo up to the mismatched roofs and down the copious side alleys that stretch off into darkness.

I try to tell myself to calm down, enjoy myself even, but the alarm bells ringing in my head refuse to shut off. This is a text book ambush location. No cars, no people and no security cameras, streets too narrow for cop cars to bother patrolling. Perfect.

Shifting the plastic bag from one hand to the other, I wipe the sweat off the now free palm and walk closer to Peter.

We've already been to two shops in much nicer areas. I've had my own guided tour of the less touristy parts of New York and Peter and I both carry bags of second hand items. Its the first time I've picked my own clothes in the best part of fifteen years and I still feel giddy from it, or I did until the kid led me here.