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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He stayed. Barnes had come back, and he stayed – and part of Kat could hardly believe it. She knew her smiles were almost too enthusiastic when she greeted him when he appeared in the mornings, but she couldn't help it. She was happy to see him. She liked his fond little expressions that he cast her, the way he said her name – for the first time in years, she was beginning to think of herself as Kat again, instead of Katie, or Katherine. It was as if he was helping her reclaim a piece of herself that she had thought lost.
She was slightly less happy to see him when he was lecturing her on the fact that she was still holding her knife wrong on the evenings she had off from the bar, but she could recognise that it came from a place of concern. Besides, every time she agreed to practice, he would have to sit through a movie with her – and that was revenge enough.
Beyond the fact that he was there though, she could see him consciously making an effort to venture out of his solitary existence in the lower apartment. Trying to live, instead of just surviving. Once, in the weeks since he had come back, she returned from the bike shop to find his door open and the smell of fresh paint filling the stairwell.
"What are you doing?" She had frowned, sticking her head around the door to find him stepping back from a newly coated, bright white wall.
"I uh, I talked to your landlord – I thought he wouldn't mind me offering to do a bit of work in here so you could have the night off." He shrugged, turning to wipe a drip from his paintbrush on the edge of a tray.
"You talked to Markus?"
"Yeah, seems like a nice guy." He commented idly, looking back to his handiwork. She might have imagined it, but she thought she had caught a hint of pride in the small smile that crossed his features as he turned.
Another day, she had dismounted from her bike to find him finishing up replacing the wobbly lock on the external door to the stairs.
"Working hard?" She smiled curiously, noting he seemed to have found her toolkit as he packed away the things he had been using. He had shrugged, his expression quirking as he stepped aside to hold the door open for her.
"Some jobs haven't changed since the forties. It's nice to know I can still do some things."
"Well, you can tell Markus that I like his new handyman." She teased gently, giving his shoulder an affectionate bump as she passed him to climb the stairs. The careful touches here and there had become the norm – a small reassurance of each other's presence. It seemed to have come with the agreement of where they stood, the promise that they were in this for the long run, something unspoken that meant they didn't have to tiptoe around one another so cautiously.
Kat would never have had the nerve to initiate it of course, instead the first moves had come from her companion – a helpful nudge to guide her arm as he showed her how to swing her knife, a light hand on her lower back as he passed her in the kitchen. She was still getting used to them, and she only hoped that when she did, they would stop drawing such a predictable flush of colour to her cheeks.
