verb.
To fall back under pressure. To shrink back physically or emotionally.
noun.
The kickback of a gun upon firing.
•
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...
Oops! Questa immagine non segue le nostre linee guida sui contenuti. Per continuare la pubblicazione, provare a rimuoverlo o caricare un altro.
"Bucky..."
Kat couldn't form words, beyond her frantic sobs of his name as she felt his arm close around her, locking her against his chest with such desperate urgency. She couldn't think though her motions, what was happening as her hands grasped for him, his shoulders, his back, anywhere she could cling to him – and she felt him doing the same, his one free hand grasping her shoulder, then the back of her neck and then burying in her hair as he clutched at her. As if he needed to touch every inch of her to prove to himself that she was really here. She felt his face press into her hair as she buried hers in his neck, feeling his shuddering breaths rattling through his chest as he dragged her closer.
Six months, six months since she had felt his arms around her, since she had heard his voice, seen his face... There were times it had felt like years.
"Kat... God, Kat..."
"I'm here- I'm here..." She managed to choke out, drawing back just enough to look up into his eyes, her breath catching as she saw the tears pooling there. "It's alright Buck, it's alright..." Her reassurances may well have been babbled nonsense, as she tenderly reached to stroke her fingers over his jaw, her own tearful eyes drifting to the dried blood staining his skin, the scrapes and bruises and evidence of a fight that littered his body.
He looked awful, but he was here. He was here, he was alive, and he was himself. That was more than she had been praying for in those painful few minutes she had spent under this roof, knowing he was here, yet knowing she couldn't see him.
"Bucky... Oh God Buck look at you..." She breathed shakily, hesitantly touching her fingers to an angry, swelling bruise on his cheekbone as his eyes drifted shut beneath her touches, his lip curling in a slight wince as he tried to straighten his posture. Quickly, she shifted her own stance so he wasn't supporting her weight, dropping to her knees in front of him as her frantic thoughts cleared enough to set the single, familiar goal of helping him. Easing his pain, making him feel safe. Her own emotions could take a back seat, her priority was him. It always had been. "Hang on, let me get you out of this..."
"Hold on a second." Sam's voice halted her as she reached to examine the vice they had caught Bucky's arm in, the sudden reminder of the presence of the other two men forcing her to sit back on her heels, her hand coming to rest instinctively on Bucky's knee, needing to maintain that contact. It was evident as she met Sam's eyes – there wasn't enough trust there yet. Not enough to release Bucky, and evidently the battered fugitive before her saw that too, as he let out a long, weary sigh.
"What did I do?"
It was such a fearful, broken question, but Bucky had kept his tone level, even as she felt his right hand clinging a little tighter to the back of her shirt. Whatever he had done, he didn't remember it. Not yet.
But then again, if he were a regular man, he'd probably still be out cold – or reeling from a massive concussion.
"Enough." Steve uttered grimly, not betraying the full details of the Winter Soldier's rampage, but not reassuring him either. It dragged another agonised, guilt-ridden sigh from the man at Kat's side.
