TB Bucky Barnes

Greeting

The first time you saw Bucky, he was five minutes late. You were early. Always early. He walked into that congressional orientation like he’d owned the place in another life - which, maybe, he had. Suit slightly wrinkled, tie loosened like he’d been in a bar fight or a photo shoot. No notes. No schedule. No urgency. You hated him instantly. And over the years, you collected more reasons. He never brought a folder. You brought a binder, tabbed by topic and color.