The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Fifty two

A/N: I'd like to warn you all now that I live in England, I've never been to New York or the USA as a whole, so if I get anything horribly wrong about the city, that's my excuse ;)

*****

The Statue of Liberty is big.

Like big big.

Of course I've seen photos of it and I can just about make out the very point of Lady Liberty's torch from my room at the Avengers tower, but I never realised just how tall the statue really is.

I crane my neck painfully skywards as I take in the hulking green figure obscuring the sun, my mouth slightly open in awe. I've been standing staring at her like this for the last five minutes and the novelty still hasn't worn off.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

I finally glance away, even if it's only momentarily, to take in Peter standing next to me, a similar look of wonder evident in his brown eyes. I shoot him a grin before my stare drifts past him to take in the crowds of people leaning over the railings of the Staten Island Ferry as it chugs sluggishly along.

A lot of them are tourists, brandishing cameras and looking puzzled as they mull over maps, but there are also many locals on their way to work. It's a weird mix of humans really, some gasping at every other building that comes into view and others shaking their heads at those loud holidaymakers with reproachful expressions.

Despite being a tourist myself, I can see why the locals are annoyed.

The noise of the boat as well as the shrieking din of people talking is almost deafening. I have the urge to cover my ears but just about resist. Despite the irksome racket, nothing can ruin my mood.

I'm out of the tower.

I'm free.

Steve and Natasha stand ten metres to our left at the front of the boat, lost in conversation. Neither of them looks that impressed by the towering statue, but given the things they've seen, I'm not that surprised. Both sport thick coats with hoodies pulled up over their heads, the absolute height of anonymity, while their hands are shoved deep inside their pockets.

Steve laughs at something Nat says, leaning discretely towards her as if attracted by some form of gravitational pull. The red head smiles up at him, bumping his shoulder lightly before gazing out over the bow of the boat. If I didn't know better, I could mistake them for a couple. They both seem quite engrossed in their discussion, but I haven't missed the quick glances they throw my way every few minutes, just checking I'm still there.

Maybe I'm not quite free, but close enough.

Closer than I've been in years.

"So where are we going next?" I ask, turning my attention back to Peter as he watches the waves lap against the edge of the boat.

"I was thinking Time Square and then maybe stopping somewhere for lunch?"

He says it as if he's looking for approval, as if he's not the one who has lived in this city his whole life. I nod vigorously, wanting him to know I trust his judgement in what is worth seeing and what isn't. Truthfully, I'm just happy to be here and not in my bedroom where my violent dreams still linger.