Chapter 1
He likes crowds.
Contrary to popular belief, or whatever the fuck Clint might joke about, he likes the feeling of celebrations. People being together.
A kid is sleeping on her Father's shoulder, bundled in what must feel like twenty parkas and a shirt.
It was the thing you missed being away at the war, fighting for the invisible freedoms you weren't able to see.
He wears a leather jacket with a small black star patch on his left sleeve, a baseball cap on and hands in beaten up denim as he looks around the square.
Another bittersweet reason to add to it: he could blend in and disappear without a word. Enjoy it without worry of police, or SHIELD surveillance. Whatever was left of it.
The sky is in a self-made fog of smoke from fireworks and sparklers, a haze of gunpowder residue for good reasons for once, mingled with the smell of street vendors taking advantage of the cold weather and drunk people who need a hot dog. The weather is currently 22 degrees at 11:54pm on New Year's Eve and he's glad he came out instead of being cooped up, the carpet more than likely soon going to be worn from all the walking or exercising he does in the room (going to the exercise room means talking and he hasn't been in the mood.)
New York isn't the best place to light things like this, the glittering ball up ahead reminiscent of that fact but-
Two boys run with sparklers in their hand as their Mom angrily chases them, as they laugh.
-like all things here, it somehow manages to make itself happen; land of dreamers and the impossible.
He stops for a brief second as he swears he smells her cologne before his mind answers. "Get a hold of yourself. You're seeing ghosts again, do you know how many people wear that kind of perfume?", and his heart rate would have followed suit, lowering the increased speed before the world stopped as he saw flash of red hair.
"Five!"
He begins to walk toward the woman, trying to keep up as his mind screams logic at him.
"Four!", his heart tells him it's her. She's back from the dead, like everything in their fucked up lives.
"Three!"
He walks faster now, trying to catch up. He wants to hold her just one more damn time, tell her he was a fool for not wanting to just stay on the moon, stay on the ship. Tell her he loves her, one more time.
"Two!"
He edges past an angry elderly couple, their obscenities over his bumping causing them to drop whatever it was they were holding.
"1!" He calls out for her, risking yelling as it would be almost impossible for anyone to hear him, much less pay attention.
Explosions of cheers ring out as his heart sinks, the woman with red hair stopping to kiss a man that's more than likely her husband.
He swallows the false happiness, gulping it down like cheap malt liquor from the corner store that does nothing but gives taste to heartache. Reality slipping in all over again as he feels the same pain of the media tickers announcing the news.
Couples kiss around him, families hug and confetti rains down.
He stands in the crowd, and he's never felt so alone.