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...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
[Author's Note: Upon posting this chapter I have added a maturity warning to the story description as themes of consent and lack thereof are touched on here - not explicitly, but I wanted to give a warning for those that have begun reading before this was updated. Further notes at the end of the chapter.]
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
On the 26th of December, 1991, the Soviet Flag was lowered from the Kremlin for the last time. Howard and Maria Stark had been dead for ten days, Erik Ivanov for seven.
Remaining in Siberia was no longer a stable option for HYDRA. It was commanded that the facility be secured and abandoned, for the time being. They were given three weeks to complete the transition to the nearest facility large enough to house the displaced operatives – a fortress in Sokovia. Before the first month of 1992 was halfway through, there were to be no breathing operatives left within the Siberian base.
The failed Winter Soldiers were to remain, locked in the cryostasis chambers deep in the missile silo. Sedated and frozen, until such a time as a method for controlling them could be found.
Katrina prayed that day would never come.
The days became a blur, unfocused, meaningless. Time was difficult enough to track in an underground facility, but with sleepless nights and no gentle conversations, no shared coffees and smiles to mark the hours, tracking the time became impossible. The numbers on the old, leather-strapped watch on her wrist meant nothing.
Her father was gone. She didn't even know what had happened to his body. She hadn't been allowed to see. By the time the other guards had come, by the time the soldiers had been sedated, it had been too late for anyone left in the corridor. The Winter Soldier had walked her out when Karpov ordered them to leave the cell, keeping her face pressed to his shoulder with a steady hand. She hadn't struggled that time; she had kept her eyes clamped shut as he had guided her around whatever debris lay on the floor. Her father hadn't wanted her to see, and she didn't want to either. She didn't try to look.
She couldn't grieve. She didn't know how to in this place. In the outside world, she knew how it should be, of course. People wore black, they laid flowers, the gathered around their families and they talked. They recounted the life of the one they had lost, shared experiences and memories. They supported one another, they laughed about the times that had been good and they cried for the times they had lost.
