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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Weeks. She hadn't so much as glimpsed him in weeks.
And it hurt. It smouldered like an ember lodged in her chest, refusing to be smothered by time, by repetition, by the tasks and activities she tried so hard to find herself in. Rarely, it flared into a flame of agony, but she could usually keep it subdued.
Kat didn't give it the energy to let it burn and rage, the way it had done when he had first woken. She devoted that energy to other things – to mending the broken plough out the back of Nobomi's allotment. To helping the boys weave their fishing nets and casting them into the lazy flow of their section of the river. To letting her mind slot connections into place as she listened to the children chatter, picking up on phrases and echoing them to their growing delight. Books in English and Xhosa and sunlight and watching her skin shift from awkwardly pale to a healthy, golden tan – pausing briefly at a painful, burnt pink in some places, but it hadn't lasted. Cooking with their host and learning the names of spices she had never so much as heard of, let alone tasted. Even daring to speak softly with Ayo as the family spent their evenings talking around the large, circular fire pit that sat between the scattered huts. Sometimes cooking over the flames, despite the fully stocked, electrically powered kitchen that resided neatly tucked away inside the main family home – she never objected to the way they leaned into a simpler, slower pace here. She listened to their music, to their songs, laughed when the goats escaped their pen and chased after them dutifully, despite the fact that she hadn't the first idea of how to herd them.
And when she bade their hosts goodnight, she padded back to her own hut, casting his shrouded doorway a small glance to ensure the plate of food she had left there earlier in the evening had been taken. Quietly, she would murmur her goodnight to him too, unsure if he ever heard. He never replied.
She did her best to live, during the day. As much as she could without allowing her thoughts to linger on Bucky Barnes. Night was a different matter though. Sleep didn't come easily, despite the fact that her body leaned into it, her mind remained restless – often turning to the half-finished designs that remained stored in her Kimoyo bracelet. Designs for a metal left arm.
She didn't consider this self-indulgent though. She had told Nobomi she would go back to working on what she knew, to let herself heal. If there was one thing she knew, it was this.
What did feel self-indulgent were the rare nights she left herself sink into thoughts of him. When she diverted on her path to bed and instead seated herself on the cool grass near the river, tangling her fingers in the chain of his dog tags, staring up at the starlit sky and letting herself remember why she was doing this. Why she was enduring this separation of only a few metres that felt like a thousand miles.
She wanted to find her way back to the girl who had danced in an empty bar, the girl who had been strong and stable enough to take in a man who had been so lost and broken and had been able to give him the time to find himself, before she had fallen in love with him. Because maybe, if she did, they could get back to that. He might smile at her the way he had done that night in the bar, or the way he had as he had kissed her the morning after she had summoned the courage to do so for the first time. Even that way she had felt him smile against her lips, the day he had woken, before everything had fallen apart. They might be able to return to the people they had been, when they talked about a future together, not knowing where they would go, but knowing they didn't want to be separated. She had promised him once that they would find somewhere where they could see the stars.
