verb.
To fall back under pressure. To shrink back physically or emotionally.
noun.
The kickback of a gun upon firing.
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It takes a stubborn mind to cling to their humanity when the world seeks to strip it away.
It takes a desperate soul to reach f...
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"Did you not sleep, myshka?"
Katrina lifted her eyes from the familiar lines of the deconstructed motorbike engine, casting her father a tight smile as he stepped into the workshop. A swift glance at the clock on the wall informed her that it was a little after five in the morning, some time before he was scheduled to rise.
"Not enough." She murmured, noting the shadows under his own eyes, "Could you not rest either, papa?"
"Not enough." He echoed her words with a fond smile, striding to stand opposite her at the bench she worked at in the centre of the transportation workshop, pulling out a stool so he could sit across from her. Carefully, he set down a battered vacuum flask between them, unscrewing the outer cap and upturning it so he could fill it with steaming black coffee from the flask, the tremor in his hand more apparent when he was tired. It was a familiar object to Katrina - a standard issue piece of equipment that she saw many within the facility carrying, but her father's was different. Scraped and dented in more places than she could count, it was a miracle it still functioned, but it had been like that for as long as she remembered, whether it was on snowy walks as a child or quiet moments that they now shared as colleagues, the flask had always been present. He never carried a spare cup, but that hadn't mattered when she was little, and it didn't matter now that she was grown. It was a curious little ceremony, but it was a comforting one - one that he seemed to need as much as she did this morning. The lines of his face were troubled as he screwed the inner cap back onto the flask, and she could guess what was coming as he braced his elbows on the workbench with a weary sigh.
"I've seen a lot of things in my life, myshka. Some things I can forget, some I can't. What I watched through that glass yesterday... That will stay with me."
Her throat tightened at his words, the tensing of her jaw sending an uncomfortable throb of pain over her bruised neck. She had used to scold him for calling her by that pet name when they had begun working together, and she had stoically refused to call him by any affectionate term. It wasn't befitting for operatives of HYDRA to be so familiar, to call each other mouse and papa, but she had come to welcome it. They only ever used the terms when they were alone, and it meant she could let down her guard a little - now, it made her feel small again. Like her father was looking across the table at her and only seeing his little Kat, and not his grown daughter.
"It will stay with me too, papa." She whispered softly, her eyes dropping back to the pieces of the engine before her, smothering the urge to brush off his concern.
"You don't have to continue with the program, Kat."
"Karpov wouldn't allow me to step back." She sighed, reaching to lift the cup of coffee and taking a mouthful before laying it back in its position between them. He always made it too strong.
"I can speak with him." Her father insisted softly, "They can find someone else to maintain the Soldier, I don't want you put in harm's way again."
