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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The man at the table looked totally bewildered by her question, but at least had the good graces to slip off his aviators as he stared up at her.
"Excuse me?"
"I didn't quite catch it the first few times, I figured it was just a look - wearing sunglasses in the evening, I mean." She explained as she pulled out the metal chair opposite him at the table, checking it was dry before she sat and ran her hand over her damp ponytail. "But on a rainy evening?"
"Maybe it is just a look." He shrugged, his tone tight as a pair of keen brown eyes swept over her, though he seemed to be making an effort to keep his posture casual.
"You're following me."
Her blunt statement seemed to amuse him, a small smile creeping across his lips as he shook his head; "Clearly I'm not very good at it."
"Soldiers don't tend to make good spies. They stand too straight." She reasoned, keeping her expression neutral even as she felt her pulse beating anxiously in her throat. "What do you want?"
"Just to talk."
"Are you from HYDRA?" The question fell from her lips coolly, though her feet were firmly anchored to the ground, ready to push her chair back at a moment's notice, her mind already calculating where she could dash through the trees and vault the park railing behind the café if she needed to. She could lose him in the network of streets beyond that.
"No."
"SHIELD?"
"No - I mean, I have a connection, but no one sent me." He assured her, holding up both his hands in a universal gesture vulnerability, as if to lull her into some sense of false security. "I'm here on my own, Katrina, and I'm not here to hurt you."
She grimaced at the name, bracing her elbows on the cold metal arms of the chair but keeping her hands firmly planted in her pockets, as if to imply she might have a weapon there. The keys to her apartment clutched between her fingers would be a poor defence, but they'd be better than her fists alone. More of a visual deterrent. "Are you here to arrest me?"
"Honestly? I don't have that kind of power." He admitted, leaning forward to offer her his hand, "My name is Sam, Sam Wilson."
Warily, she slipped the hand that wasn't holding her keys from her pocket as she reached to shake his offered hand. He had a warm grip, firm, but not threatening, and he made sure not to hold on to her fingers for too long. "Katie." She murmured in response to his introduction, sure she had heard that name somewhere before, but then again, it seemed common enough; "It's Katie Irwin now."
"Katie." He nodded, echoing the name with a friendly smile, clearly making an effort, but it still didn't put her at ease. "I'm sorry if I scared you, I just needed to make sure you were the right person."
"And what person is that?"
"Someone who might know the Winter Soldier."
Her breath caught in her throat at his words, her jaw clenching as she abruptly pushed back her chair from the table, the steel legs screeching over the earth. If she had been softening her icy exterior at all towards this man, that name had driven her walls right back up. "No. No I don't." She uttered as she got to her feet, her urge to flee rising as he stood with her.
