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 roar of the Quinjet's engines were a little louder in the rear of the cabin. Not comparable to the scream of a fighter jet, but still loud. Still jarring.
The imagery was all too harsh, the crash webbing behind her head, the metallic greys and illuminations of screens and lights. It was so far removed from the comfort Bucky associated Kat with now. When once harsh, starched fabrics and cold concrete would have been aligned with her in his mind, in the last year that had shifted. Warmth, sunlight, the pages of books. Silken strands of hair slipping through his fingers and a body nestled into his side. A touch he didn't recoil from. The smell of fresh coffee, cinnamon, engine oil. Home.
He had taken her so far from her home. Their home.
"Hey..." Bucky's low murmur did little to conceal the concern in his voice as he moved to crouch in front of where Kat had seated herself, her legs stretched out in a weary sprawl in front of her as she stared up at the roof of the jet. "You alright?"
Exhaling a long breath, he watched as she raised her arms to press the heels of her palms against her eyes; "Can you ask me that in five minutes?" She whispered, the small catch in her words tugging forcefully at Bucky's chest as he laid his right hand on her knee. She suddenly felt so very small under his hand.
"Whatever you need." He breathed softly, his throat tightening as he watched her draw in another steadying breath. He had been in this situation before, unsure of how to help her. That night in Amsterdam when he had first wrapped his arm around her and let her cry into his shoulder, watching this remarkable, unshakable person suddenly allow herself to become so vulnerable.
I'm supposed to be the stable one.
She wasn't allowing herself to do that now. He could see it, the tension held in her muscles forcing herself not to fall apart in the wake of her first real fight. She wasn't allowing herself that indulgence.
"You did good, Kat." He reassured her gently, recalling the aching shock he had once felt as a younger man. The day Sergeant Barnes had first seen the front lines of war, the day he had first pulled a trigger knowing that it wasn't a wooden target or sandbag waiting for his bullet. That day, he'd probably needed a comforting word, a reassurance that he'd done the right things, even when it all felt so wrong.
"I..." Her words hitched, a heavy swallow forcing back a wavering sound that might well have been a whimper, if she'd let it escape. "Did I? 'Cause from where I'm standing... It feels like I screwed up, Buck. Like I let the team down."
Her hands slipped from where they had shielded her eyes, dragging down her cheeks as she allowed herself to look at him. Those gentle, grey eyes looked so fearful now in the wake of her quiet confession, one that he could hardly find a response to, because he honestly couldn't understand where it had come from.
"You got us out." He frowned, running his hand up her leg to squeeze her hip gently, hoping to ground her in that contact. To comfort her the way she had unfailingly done for him so many times before. The way she had done last night.
