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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It didn't get much easier, being without him.
It was like having an open wound that she couldn't stop picking at. She couldn't let it heal because she couldn't make herself stop thinking about him. She didn't want to. It wasn't like he had died, or like they had broken off whatever had been between them. She didn't have to stop thinking about him, because if she did, it would mean admitting that she might never see him again, and Kat just couldn't live with that thought. So, she let herself hold on. It was indulgent, and probably the wrong thing to let herself do, but it was the only thing that kept her going, the thought of Bucky still being out there, thinking of her too.
She clung to every little piece of him she could, losing count of the amount of nights she fell asleep on the sofa, wrapped up in the blanket that still faintly smelled of him, until that faded and all she was left with was the memory. Hell, she even dreamed of him. Not of fevered kisses and touches, but just of his presence. Of walking into the kitchen and seeing him there, cooking, or reading by the window. Sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping coffee or playing with her knife like he was a damn circus act. She couldn't escape him even when she closed her eyes because she didn't want to. Those nights were a welcome reprieve from the nightmares that had begun to creep back, in the moments she felt so isolated, alone and vulnerable. She wondered if his nightmares had gotten worse too, hating the thought of him having to live through those alone.
Half the time she couldn't tell if she was treading water or if she was drowning in this. How much she missed him. It was better in some ways, than it had been that first time he had disappeared for that meagre two weeks. At least this time she knew why he had gone. In other ways, it was worse – because he had come back once, and some pathetic, hopeful part of her brain thought he might do it again. The logical side of her mind of course shut that thought down routinely, but it always came back.
Still, what did she have to hope for, if not the thought of seeing him again?
No more letters arrived, besides that first one, now months ago. She hoped that meant he had settled somewhere. That he was carving out an exitance for himself somewhere. Somewhere she could find him, when it felt safe enough.
It hadn't felt safe though, not since she had heard the news of Karpov's death. As much as some idiotic part of her was hoping and waiting for Bucky to walk back into her life, a more wary, realistic part of her was waiting for the man from the bike shop to come back.
It was difficult to shake his thinly veiled threat regarding her enhancement.
She had played her part well, though. Getting on with her life. If anyone had been watching, they would have suspected nothing. She was living quietly, just like the man had advised her.
Well, perhaps surviving, more than living.
As quiet as she kept her existence though, she kept one ear to the ground at the same time. Listening for rumbles of trouble. The only thing that would drive her to go after Bucky before it felt safe was if it suddenly became too dangerous for her to remain in her current position. There were rumbles, of course, but nothing that directly threatened her – at least, not that she had been able to tell from what she read in the news.
