Re: Bar: Cat C/Bruce W
It was likely a very good thing, the fact that he responded to her in English.
His was a voice she hadn't heard in years, since she'd thought him dead, and since they'd buried an empty casket in New Jersey. Since they'd mourned. But still, and even with time and distance, it was a voice she recognized. Through the haze of everything, she recognized, and she blinked her gaze clear and slowly lowered the weapon.
She tucked the gun into the back of her jeans, the safety safely in place, and she moved aside when he asked if he could come in. She didn't say anything immediately, but she made room for him, and her gaze dropped to cane and uneven gait. The sound of his approach on gravel replayed, and she quirked a brow as the door closed behind them. She locked said door, of course, and she walked to the bar, where she began - in Russian - to ask him what he wanted to drink. But she caught herself partway. "Whiskey? Vodka? Beer?"