@the-white-wolf-official
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“First time?”
The voice that greets Sergeant Barnes is high, sinuous and melodic, like an alto flute or mockingbird, full of life in stark contrast to the skills its owner wields.
Klaus Hargreeves is curled up like an affable young pretzel, all limbs and limberness, in a chair in the same waiting room Bucky shares. He smiles mellowly.
“In therapy, I mean.”
A click of the tongue and a wink.
“It’s no biggie, babe. We don’t proverbially flay you and harvest yer skin. We just hang. You talk if ya want. If you don’t want, that’s cool, but you get an hour either way. An’ yeah. I’m a vet too. So I have a frame of reference. But anyone who tells ya they ‘know exactly how you feel’ is probably full of shit.”
Finger guns, and he rises to hand Bucky the registration form.
“Good luck, and, honestly, good job showin’ up. That’s the hardest part, pinky swear.”
