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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They were careful. For months, they were careful.
The dust settled over Sokovia. The losses were counted. The refugees of Novi Grad spilled out over the planet. The neighbouring states moved in to pick at the carcass of a ruined country. The world kept turning mercilessly. Time marched on.
A busy summer tourist season came and went in the blink of an eye, between the rental shop and the bar. Kat was sure her feet hardly touched the ground over those months, but she didn't mind. It meant they had a little extra cash set aside; in case the time came to move on. It also meant she had less time to think about what she felt for the man she now travelled through life with. It meant she didn't have time to consider the gentle touches and glances they shared. The affectionate smiles and soft words. The days he showed up outside the bike shop so they could eat lunch together at the side of the canal in the sun. The nights she fell asleep pillowed on his chest, a book in her hand or something mindless playing on her laptop - but she always woke tucked safely in her own bed, alone. They were careful.
It was almost too easy, to sink into life as a civilian - filling their days with work and books and movies and takeaways and walks like normal people did. To mark the passing months like the rest of the world, in seasons and holidays and little milestones instead of horrors and traumas and fears. To celebrate every little domestic victory, when the dripping tap in the kitchen was fixed and the broken latch on the window was mended it felt like they were able to cling to this place a little tighter. This little corner that was their home, their haven. A kitchen crowded with the scents of passible experimentation as they both tried to keep up with the expanding tastes of this century, the air filled with the eclectic mix of sounds they both found comfort in - eighties pop ballads and current chart hits and, more increasingly, forties jazz crooners and cheerful dance tracks. It was so comfortable, to the point where Kat almost began to believe that they could keep this. That they could hold on to this moment of peace and contentment.
She didn't feel that itch that Sam Wilson had spoken about. The drive to do more, to be more than a civilian. Or, if she did, she never admitted it to herself. This was enough.
"I'm going down to help Markus set up for tonight." Kat informed Bucky as she wandered through the apartment, grabbing the bags of banners and balloons her landlord had asked her to pick up that morning. Nearly six months on from the Battle of Sokovia, the bar was hosting a fundraising evening to try and boost the foundering charities that were still working to support the refugees from Novi Grad - it was incredible how quickly the rest of the world went back to their daily lives, after spending only a few weeks thinking about the victims of the disaster.
"Do you want help?"
"It's okay, there's not much to do." She smiled in response to his offer, tucking a bag under her arm so she could squeeze his shoulder as she passed where he was stood over the stove, taking care of their meal for the night.
