verb.
To fall back under pressure. To shrink back physically or emotionally.
noun.
The kickback of a gun upon firing.
•
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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Weird. It was weird.
She'd never had a problem with babbling away to the Winter Solider, some twenty-three years ago, but making small-talk with James Buchanan Barnes over a stir-fry? Weird.
"How do you like the city?"
"Its... Alright. I haven't seen much."
"Do you go out?"
"Sometimes, at night mostly."
"You should go out during the day, its beautiful."
"I'll think about it."
"The museums are good – they really helped me fill in the gaps of some stuff I missed."
"I'll look into it."
Silence. The sound of forks knocking against plates. The quiet hum of the music playing from her laptop turned down low. The distant sounds of the street below. Weird.
Katie could feel him looking at her though, in those pauses between her questions. It was almost as though he was waiting for another one, or perhaps he was thinking about how annoying her questions were. Maybe he was just willing her to hurry up and eat faster so he could get out of here.
That thought was enough to make her swallow back her nervous chatter and focus on her plate. She couldn't stop herself glancing up at him though, noting that he looked a little better than he had done, not quite so tired as he had been that night he had arrived. The dark shadows under his eyes were easing, and his appearance was less dishevelled. He seemed to have made an effort to comb his long hair back out of his face, and his clothes weren't quite so crumpled. Evidently he had followed her helpful directions to where Markus let her do her laundry in the basement. He still looked tense though, wary. As if he didn't want to let himself fully relax in her presence. His stubbled jaw clenched into a strong line, and his hands were still gloved, even though she knew what lay beneath all too well. Despite that though, in the soft evening light spilling in through her window, his eyes were the feature that kept drawing her attention. She was still getting used to seeing that breath-taking shade of blue that came out when he was bathed in natural light. She had spent too many years looking at him beneath a harsh, artificial glow.
"Where do you go? During the day?"
She looked up in surprise at the low murmur from across the breakfast bar, her fork caught between her lips as she met his piercing gaze. Of course he'd finally initiate conversation when she had her mouth full.
"Work?" She forced out once she'd swallowed enough to be sure she wouldn't expose a mess of chewed food to him when she managed to speak – taking a sip of water just to make sure there was nothing caught in her teeth anyway. "I'm a mechanic at a bike shop – we rent them out for tourists."
He nodded, a few strands of his long hair falling into his face with the motion. She was beginning to understand why he wore the hat so often. "You're good at fixing things."
