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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The silence was numbing, in that little soundproof box. It kept Bucky without any context, any awareness of what was happening around him. He didn't know what country he was in; he didn't even know what time of day it was. He couldn't quite bring himself to think too hard about it though. It didn't really matter.
He could see though, as they had unloaded his confinement chamber from the truck like he was little more than cargo, he had seen who else had been brought in. For just a second, he made eye contact through the reinforced glass with the tall man stepping out of an unmarked police van, his throat tightening as he glimpsed the unreadable expression on Steve's face. Even without the context of sound, it was evident that his friend wasn't the one in control of this situation. He'd heard what had been said out on the road in Bucharest, what Steve had been accused of – and it was all because of him.
It was that guilt that sat on his chest, heavier than the sturdy restraints digging into his shoulders and wrists. The guilt of knowing that the people he cared about were putting so much on the line for him. He'd said it before, and he'd said it in his letter to Kat. He wasn't worth any of this, but he couldn't seem to make them see that. These two people that somehow believed he was worth risking everything for.
It was bad enough that Steve was here – and whoever else he had managed to rope into this mess – he couldn't bear to think about Kat getting mixed up in all of this.
That thought was what had stayed with him, as he was transported down to some level in the building deemed secure enough to hold him. As he stared down the countless security cameras aimed at his face, he hoped she was staying far, far away from him and the trouble that followed him.
That was why he resolved to keep his mouth closed, when that man entered the room and the speakers in his chamber crackled to life. He couldn't say a word about where he had been hiding because that would put her in danger, it was easier to stay quiet. To pretend he was still as much of a stranger to himself as he had been a year ago.
But when the lights went out, when his heart began to thud with panic as he made eye contact with the man who had been questioning him, he began to lose his hold on that pretence. As he realised that this wasn't right, that something was about to go very wrong and he was completely powerless to stop it. As that realisation was confirmed by the sight of a small, red notebook.
"Zhelaniye..."
"No." He tried to resist. With every fibre of his being he tried to block them out.
"Rzhavvy..."
"Stop." He could feel his fists clenching, his muscles straining against the restraints in a physical manifestation of how desperately he was straining against the words. Against the creeping, dragging sensation of something slipping away from him.
"Semnadtsat..."
"Stop." He hadn't felt fear like it, not since that rainy day in Gdansk, when a girl he didn't remember had shown up on his doorstep and he had been so terrified that she was going to say the words he was hearing now.
