[ Katarina doesn't call him back immediately. It takes her several days to even listen to the message in its entirety.
Though Steve hasn't known her for very long, he seems to understand just the sort of person she is; the fact that he had seen her laid so low was a source of immense shame and humiliation for her, and the fact that he'd helped her to the clinic (for all the good it could do her) and stayed through those hellish hours only deepened her ignominy. Even in his message, the complete disregard of what she had endured caused her face to burn and her hands to shake.
Not many had seen Katarina du Couteau vulnerable. The few who had hadn't hesitated to take their chances, and the fact that Steve hadn't made the situation all the more painful.
Still. He knew her well for a man who had met her only weeks before, and Katarina was slowly finding that she could trust him, though she hated the fact that she did. ]
... I'll be there.
[ Her voice is low and she provides no other information aside from those three syllables. Way to be helpful, Kat. ]
[He goes alone for those few days. It's good training, an effective work-out, and each time he's there he learns something new, fights something different. It's usually worth the trip, but not always, and he'll return just within the time limit, mind abuzz with sundry paranoias. The worst one, the one that he's come to hate, is that Peggy is somehow Hydra, because why else would they have had Stark killed and left her--
Once those thoughts start, it's time to leave, and usually he spends the next few hours in Haven West beating on something until his knuckles bleed. Her message comes through when he's just finished a tai chi session, and he's at the well splashing water on his face. He's not in uniform, for once, but instead a pair of jeans and a shirt that's. Well. Probably too small, if he's being perfectly honest. Beggars can't exactly be choosers around here.
He flattens his hand against his damp hair and picks up the phone.]
[ It's in the middling light of dawn that Katarina finds her mind wandering to the stories he'd told her while she was held captive by her own pain. The gravel of his voice still echoed in her mind, and the fact that it had seemingly returned to normal-- whole and deep, almost comforting-- in his message was an immense source of secret relief for the assassin. Though she didn't dare admit that she was hoping he'd ceased to be a corpse, she almost looked forward to seeing him again, as whole and steady as his now-restored voice.
She vaguely remembers the places he'd told her about. The people. His friend Bucky, for one. The cellar in a place called Belgium. The chocolate. Her broken, bloodied body had been a cage for her, but Steve had somehow managed to make it seem almost like a window with the stories he'd told, though she'd never, ever openly admit it aloud. She hated the things that her pain and vulnerability had done to her. She hated the way Steve reminded her of that damned Crownguard, so unrelentingly kind and altruistic, eager to defend and even more eager to assist.
Mostly, though, she hated the way that she was prepared in under ten minutes, her feet grudgingly taking her straight back to the gaping maw of the subway entrance. ]
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audio;
Though Steve hasn't known her for very long, he seems to understand just the sort of person she is; the fact that he had seen her laid so low was a source of immense shame and humiliation for her, and the fact that he'd helped her to the clinic (for all the good it could do her) and stayed through those hellish hours only deepened her ignominy. Even in his message, the complete disregard of what she had endured caused her face to burn and her hands to shake.
Not many had seen Katarina du Couteau vulnerable. The few who had hadn't hesitated to take their chances, and the fact that Steve hadn't made the situation all the more painful.
Still. He knew her well for a man who had met her only weeks before, and Katarina was slowly finding that she could trust him, though she hated the fact that she did. ]
... I'll be there.
[ Her voice is low and she provides no other information aside from those three syllables. Way to be helpful, Kat. ]
audio;
Once those thoughts start, it's time to leave, and usually he spends the next few hours in Haven West beating on something until his knuckles bleed. Her message comes through when he's just finished a tai chi session, and he's at the well splashing water on his face. He's not in uniform, for once, but instead a pair of jeans and a shirt that's. Well. Probably too small, if he's being perfectly honest. Beggars can't exactly be choosers around here.
He flattens his hand against his damp hair and picks up the phone.]
Twenty minutes. I'll bring lunch.
audio;
She vaguely remembers the places he'd told her about. The people. His friend Bucky, for one. The cellar in a place called Belgium. The chocolate. Her broken, bloodied body had been a cage for her, but Steve had somehow managed to make it seem almost like a window with the stories he'd told, though she'd never, ever openly admit it aloud. She hated the things that her pain and vulnerability had done to her. She hated the way Steve reminded her of that damned Crownguard, so unrelentingly kind and altruistic, eager to defend and even more eager to assist.
Mostly, though, she hated the way that she was prepared in under ten minutes, her feet grudgingly taking her straight back to the gaping maw of the subway entrance. ]