verb.
To come or go back to a place or person.
noun.
The firing of a weapon to counter a shooter's shot.
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They recoiled from their pasts, and in doing so found each other.
But the universe isn't kind enough to let a moment of peace last.
It took se...
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Three Years Since the Snap
Evening sounded different in every country. It was something Kat had begun to appreciate on her travels during the last few years. In Siberia it had been the sound of wind through ventilation shafts, a biting, cold whistle. In Amsterdam it was the soft ring of bike bells, the low hum of bars coming to life, and quite often the gentle rhythm of rain bouncing off whatever surface it could land on. Sloped rooves, pavements, canals, people. In Wakanda it had been the piping of unseen insects, the rustle of trees, the flow of the river and the crackle of a fire.
At the Compound it was quiet. Of course, it might not have been before the Snap, but quiet was all Kat knew. Perhaps there would be the occasional shrill chirp of a cricket crying out for a companion that didn't answer, but mostly it was quiet. The large lawns barely breathed with the wind, the grass still kept short, the Stark model robotic mowers still doing their job, year after year. Ready for some aircraft or spaceship to land should the space ever be needed. From what Kat heard, that was rarely the case.
The quiet was sliced through by the creak of the perimeter gates sliding back to grant her access, and the throttle of the motorbike she sat upon roaring to life with a curl of her palm. It chased away the eerie stillness as she accelerated through the gap in the gate before it had fully opened, bending low over the handlebars as she made the most of the long, sweeping driveway that led up to the imposing building. It didn't see much wear and tear these days but was better maintained than most roads that blanketed the earth. It didn't make sense to fill in potholes if no one was there to complain about them. It was just as likely that there wouldn't be anyone to fill them in, should those complaints come.
It was as she cut the engine in front of the doors that she expected the silence to return, but instead Kat heard the hiss of those glossy automatic doors sliding open. Evidently Natasha had been alerted to her pass being used at the gate.
Looking up as she dismounted from the bike, Kat smiled fondly at her friend as she stood in the doorway watching her, arms folded across her chest, her hair hanging loose over her shoulders. The platinum blonde she had favoured three years ago still clinging to the ends of those locks, but her natural red had now grown out to an almost equal length. It gave a striking effect, the two tones fading into one another, albeit an unintentional one. Just another sign, along with the faded grey sweatpants and bare feet of her friend that painted a picture of another person who was beginning to give up on the small details. Natasha had always been the one to have herself together, when Kat had travelled with her. Hair always combed, clothes always fitted to perfection. It had been part of the air of intimidation that came with the Black Widow name, but now she just looked human. Almost vulnerable.
"No helmet?"
"Didn't fit." Kat replied to the disapproving comment she was greeted with as she patted the saddle of the borrowed bike. Borrowed was perhaps too loose a term, but so many vehicles had been abandoned in the last few years. It made it easy to pick up an unused one if you knew where to look. At the moment her finances weren't exactly stretching to cover a bike of her own. Unhitching the latch on the rear storage compartment, she lifted out the white plastic bag she had stashed inside it a few miles further back on the road. "I brought a peace offering – if that'll stop you worrying about my head."
