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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Katie hadn't expected it to be quite so raw, the feeling left behind after he had fled.
Perhaps it was the guilt, of knowing that she had probably scared him away. He had needed her to be consistent, a stable, predictable presence – and she'd crumbled at the first sign of danger. She'd completely freaked out and that had sent him running.
The fear was almost overwhelming too. The knowledge that somewhere out there, the Avengers had poked the sleeping titan that was HYDRA and now all hell had the potential to break loose. They could be looking for him, or her. Both, perhaps. And now she was on her own; if they came for her, she was back to only being able to rely on herself.
In the days that followed his disappearance, more news emerged from Sokovia, more details about the experimentations Strucker had been conducting. Creating enhanced humans – it seemed HYDRA were still up to their old tricks. It didn't take a stretch of the imagination to see that they might want to pick up their work on the Winter Soldier program once again, and she would be their key to unlocking that.
Part of her was terrified that he might have sought them out. That he had seen her fear and in some misguided effort to protect them he had gone to hunt down whatever remaining members he could find – but that was unlikely. He was still so vulnerable; all of that programming was still in his head. They could take him down with a word and he knew it, so she prayed that he hadn't done anything stupid.
The most likely thing to have happened was that he had simply moved on, in an attempt to disappear again. Together, they were too much of a target. Staying with her made him too easy to find and she certainly wasn't worth that risk. That was what she had assumed.
It meant she had to go back to being more alert, to taking care of herself, watching her step and glancing over her shoulder more often. It meant she started slipping her pocketknife into her jeans again when she went out, when she hadn't carried that in months. Not since she was combing through Eastern Europe in search of a certain brainwashed assassin.
It meant she went back to cooking for one, staring vacantly at the empty chair opposite hers in the kitchen. Listening vainly for a footstep on the stairs, knowing it wouldn't come.
She missed him. She couldn't stand not knowing if he was safe or not, but she couldn't go after him. By leaving, he had made it blatantly clear that he didn't want her near him anymore. She had to respect that.
So, she tried to keep going. Between the rental shop and the bar, there was enough to keep her busy. Enough to keep her mind off James Barnes, right up until the moment she stepped through her own front door and was assaulted with everything that reminded her of him.
Keeping busy didn't really work, but she tried. For a whole two weeks, she tried.
She started picking up extra shifts in the bar, not because she strictly needed to cover the rent of two apartments anymore, but because she told herself it gave her a better vantage point. More time to watch the people coming and going around her home, to make sure none of them seemed out of place, checking that she wasn't being watched herself. It was easier to do when she was clearing the tables that spilled out onto the pavement, rather than sitting up at her window.
