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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Very little changed, in that remote base tucked away in the depths of the mountain. The handover of responsibility to Katrina seemingly impacted no one but herself, and least of all her bewildering charge. The comings and goings of those who worked in the core labs of the facility didn't change, she was simply expected to fall into stride.
Those first six months as Maintenance Officer on the Winter Soldier Program were trial and error, without anyone with significant experience to guide her. In fact, her interactions with the Soldier himself were limited – his periods out of cryostasis were few, but when he was out he would remain for a week or two at a time, giving his body time to stabilize before it was frozen once more. Even in those periods, he would vanish – she was not permitted to ask where he went, but she was expected to have him ready, and she was expected to prepare him to return to the chamber when he came back.
She talked to him as she worked; she couldn't help it. More often than not she was left alone with him, as she didn't seem to be deemed important enough to be assigned a guard during her tasks. If he were to suddenly become volatile, it would be little more than an inconvenience to replace her, but she tried not to linger on that thought. So, she talked to fill the silence, and though she never received any actual feedback, she liked to think he listened to her inane babbling and fond nicknames for him. Those piercing blue eyes that shifted between watching her every move or staring listlessly at the walls rarely changed. Most of the time he seemed to simply be waiting, his expression akin to that of a lost child, tugging at Katrina's heart in a way she couldn't put into words. Perhaps it was because no one else seemed to see it; to them, the Winter Soldier was an asset and nothing more. A weapon that could be shelved when not in use.
Sometimes, very rarely, when he had been awake for a longer period than usual, he would begin to watch her more carefully. Almost as if he were reading her expressions or actively paying attention to the work she was doing on his arm. His head would tilt slightly as she narrated her thoughts aloud in those echoing rooms, but it was often after those moments of near-responsiveness that he would be whisked away, and she would be left to busy herself with other tasks, until he returned a few weeks or months later, a blank slate once more. It was a slight change, but a noticeable one.
It was easier though, to just keep her head down and pursue other work.
Gradually, the chaotic office that had been left in her hands was combed through – files and documents, blueprints and plans were all examined, though most of it she couldn't make sense of, yet. It gradually pieced together a picture though, one that generated more questions than she had started with, but slowly, she felt she was getting somewhere. She just hadn't realised the places she needed to get to would requite so much personal improvement. Yes, she could reassemble an engine and strip a rifle with her eyes closed, but the Winter Soldier program was a different beast entirely.
Most of the maintenance records and plans for both the arm and cryochamber were in German, and so – armed with the battered phrasebooks and dictionaries her father had sourced for her – she began to learn German, albeit poorly.
